


Stole More Than a Man's Soul and Faith

by PAPERSK1N



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Con Artists, Gambling, Love, M/M, Mentions of Sex, Raywood, Romance, Some angst, Stealing, also joel is not the bad guy, as well as familial love, but dw this is a raywood fic, but like romantic love, lying, nothing specific, slight joelay, trickery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-11 13:34:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5628439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PAPERSK1N/pseuds/PAPERSK1N
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan meets Ray in a five-star restaurant bar. Neither of them are supposed to be there, Ray just has a way of making it more obvious. </p><p>Two completely random restaurant guests, hiding behind the mask of a cover reveal the their truths to each other. Ray is a grifter, making his way through the world on watches and wallets. Ryan is a slick-back smart-mouthed conman with a silver tongue and a penchant for playing games.</p><p>They both know that getting attached is dangerous in their world. Ray's never been good at relationships, period- being a pickpocket didn't really have much to do with it. Ryan grew up in the life. Ryan has always been told, time and time again by his so-called father. The number one rule of their business. </p><p>Do <em>not</em> - under <em>any</em> circumstances-  fall in <em>love</em>. </p><p>Ryan has broken it before he even realises. It's the ultimate con-</p><p>it's the one he pulls on himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Carl Smith/James Haywood/"Ryan"

**Author's Note:**

> This AU is based loosely on the movie Focus! It's a pretty good film but if you watch it it may spoil this fic as it carries a similar story line with similar plot twists and stuff. Hope you enjoy :)

Chapter One

 

 

The worst part about showing up to a restaurant with a reservation for one is probably the disappointed, pitiful looks you always get from the counter server.

“Reservation?”

“Yes, table for one. Carl Smith.”

They always smile, but it’s never genuine. Ryan is guided to his table and given a soft, reassuring smile as a wine menu is placed in front of him. He shakes his hand, dismissing it quickly.

“No wine, just a Diet Coke.”

That’s the second round of pitiful looks from all the waiting staff of most restaurants he eats at. It’s clear that he must be a lonely, depressed person, and now he doesn’t even drink away his sorrows? And that pity is a soft blow compared to the disapproving glare he usually gets from the wine steward, who was halfway across the room with their overpriced wine of the day.

But Ryan is used to this, he gets it all the time. He only goes to the fanciest restaurants in town, because that is where he blends in. The servers see a tall enough man in a nice suit with neat facial hair and a nice watch, and he can give any name he reads from their reservation book. They never question him, never notice. It’d only be more comical if he was dressed in camo.

Ryan sips his Coke and ponders over the French menu, as a voice pipes up not far from him, at the bar.

“Sorry, I don’t drink.”

“Come on, just let me buy you something? Pretty face like yours can't be here alone.”

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

The man- no, the _kid_ sitting at the bar in cargo shorts and a cheap looking black button down looks more than out of place in the swanky, five-star restaurant sat right in the middle of New York city, and draws Ryan’s eyes immediately. The guy standing over him is pushy, and keeps placing his hands on the kids back, or his shoulder or his arm, as the kid tries his hardest to stay somewhat polite as he tells him to _fuck off_.

Ryan considers getting up and saying something, but then, he’s supposed to be blending in. Carl Smith probably isn’t the kind of guy to get into a brawl at a restaurant-bar over a kid he doesn’t know. It isn’t his problem, and he’s really considering the _fillet mignon_.

But then, it’s too late, because the kid has already caught him staring. “Buddy, back off- my boyfriend is right there!”

Before Ryan can protest, the kid has darted over and taken a seat opposite him at his single serving table. However, Ryan doesn’t protest because he doesn’t want to draw any more unwanted attention in the restaurant than he already has. The guy harassing the kid looks over sceptically, but a glare from Ryan sends him on his way, across the bar to a pretty girl in a tight dress.

“Sorry.” The kid says, pulling Ryan’s attention back to himself. “You saw that asshole right? I mean I get it, I’m hot shit but come on, that’s just creepy.”

Ryan smiles. “I’m Carl Smith.”

“Ray.” The kid smiles back. “Nice to meet you, Carl.”

Before he even realises, the restaurant is getting ready to close up for the night, and he and Ray are the last people there. They're sitting at the bar now, and Ryan’s fully laughing, throwing his head back and chuckling as Ray recounts a story about his dad and his own brief stint at UPS.

“No way did you do that? How do you live with yourself?”

Ray grins. “I don’t know, maybe I’m just evil.” He shrugs. Then, as Ryan’s laughter calms down, he looks at the watch on his wrist. Ryan remembers noticing it before, wondering how a kid as out of place in a five-star restaurant as Ray could afford a watch that pricey.

“Anyway, I should go.”

“Really? We could always pay them off and keep them open all night.” Ryan jokes. Ray smiles.

“As much as I’d love to, I’ve got work in the morning. This was nice though, and I’ve got your number, so I'll call you sometime, Carl.”

Ryan almost corrects him. Almost, but Ray is already gone, hopped off his barstool and out into the snowy night. Ryan kicks himself for not offering him a ride home. What's a scrawny kid like Ray who didn't even bring a jacket to the bar going to do out in the snow?

What time even is it anyway?

Ryan holds his wrist up to check the time on his watch, when he realises it’s gone.

“Oh _shit_.”

He hops down from the barstool, immediately fumbling in his pockets. He’s still got his cell phone by his hip, but his wallet is gone, swiped, straight out of his blazer pocket.

He’s been _had_ by a fucking  _kid._

 

* * *

 

By the time he makes it far enough away from the bar and close enough to home to leaf through his winnings, snow has started to fall again from the sky. Ray’s been a New York kid his whole life, so he barely shivers in his thin polyester shirt.

He digs through his pockets, vaguely adding up his loot from the night’s work. Before he’d even met Carl, he’d scored two watches and a wallet that he knew he could sell to Lindsay for a good price. His main score of the night, however, was Carl’s wallet.

Because his watch was nice and was probably worth a few hundred, but a businessman like Carl? He was probably carrying at least five hundred dollars in cash alone.

Ray opens up the wallet, and leafs through its contents. Maybe thirty dollars in small bills, and then a couple Benjamin Franklins for good measure. Not as good as he’d hoped for, but good enough. Carl doesn’t have any bank cards, which is weird, but his driver’s licence is tucked into the photo hold, and Ray frowns as he studies it.

 _James Ryan Haywood_.

The name isn’t his, but the photo is Carl’s, which is weird. Still, are probably plenty of plausible explanations, right? Carl, or _James_ could be married and trying to score behind his partners back, or simply cautious, and it isn’t like Ray hasn’t given people fake names before for _various_ reasons.

The wallets contents, including the drivers licence (what could he say, he was feeling sentimental… Carl was _cute!_ ) go straight into Ray’s pockets, and he’s about to drop the wallet from his fingers over a trash bin, when he hears a voice behind him.

“You need to be more alert. I’ve been tailing you for three blocks.”

Carl, or _James_ is right behind him, grabbing his wrist so tightly, Ray’s worried he might break it. He’s got twig arms, they’d probably snap under Carl’s hands with enough force. He immediately shits himself, because he’s never found someone smart enough to catch him. Not until now.

“Dude I’m so sorry, please don’t hurt me! Here, take your cash back, I’m sorry, I-”

“Alright, don’t start crying.” James releases him. Ray sniffs, a quiet mumble of _I wasn’t crying_ slipping from his lips as he reaches into his pockets and shoves James’ stuff back into his hands.

“There you go, _Carl_. Or should I say _James_.”

James smirks. “I usually go by Ryan, but I am impressed that you caught that.”

“Not hard considering it’s written on your fucking driving license.” Ray scoffs. “And what kind of dude tries to pick up at a bar with a fake name anyway? Only scumbags do that, come on!”

Ryan smiles. “I’m not a scumbag. You and I are way more alike than you think, I’m just much better, apparently.”

Ray looks at Ryan, confuse and intrigue swirling in his gut. “What do you mean?”

Ryan smiles, and reaches for Ray’s wrist again. Before he can jerk back, Ryan’s pulled down his shirtsleeve and the three watches hanging around Ray’s skinny wrist are on show. Ryan unhooks the one that belongs to him, and Ray can't help but let him.

“You’re aright, kid. I’m impressed you managed to steal from me. Maybe I am getting rusty.”

“What, are you a cop or something?” Ray asks, snatching his wrist back as Ryan’s watch clicks back into place. Ryan laughs coldly.

“I’m probably about the farthest from a cop you could get. I’m a _con-man_. Like you, but better- just like I said.”

He says the statement with such pride, a stupid smile blossoming on his face. Ray’s half expecting him to start his anime transformation sequence with how fucking mighty he must think he looks.

“Con-man, huh? What makes you think you’re so much better than me?”

“Well, for starters my take is a lot bigger than $400, some watches and this bracelet.” Ryan holds up the bracelet Ray had taken from the lady with the pearl earrings at the beginning of the night. Ray blushes, snatching it back, because how the _fuck_ did Ryan get his hands on it without him noticing?

“Don’t worry, it’s fake; worth probably twenty dollars at a mall stand.” Ryan scoffs. Ray rolls his eyes, but stuffs the bracelet back into his pocket anyway. Maybe he’ll mail it to his little sister or something.

“Sorry, mister-fucking-big-shot.” Ray mumbles. Ryan laughs.

“It’s not that hard, and you're a bright kid, clearly light with your fingers. So I’m going to help you out.” He says with a shrug.

“You're gonna bring me on your super cool team of con-people and pickpockets?” Ray asks, eyes as sparkling as he can get them with sarcasm laced in his voice. Ryan smirks.

“You wish.” He scoffs. “But I’m gonna teach you a little lesson. Make sure you don’t get caught again.”

This makes Ray interesting. There’s something about Ryan that makes his insides wind up tightly, and it doesn’t feel necessarily _bad_.

“Alright, I'll bite.” He shrugs, trying to remain as casual as possible. He doesn’t want Ryan to think he’s got the upper hand, even though he most certainly does. “What you got for me, Professor X?”

“Alright, you’re no wolverine.” Ryan jokes back, continually surprising Ray. “But first of all, be more observant. I followed you for three blocks. I could’ve super-murdered you if I wanted to.”

“Super-murder? Wow, at least buy me dinner first.” Ray quips. But Ryan’s maybe as quick as he is, and quips back,

“I bought you like three cokes, didn't I?”

Ray smiles, and Ryan knows he’s got him “I was hoping you’d be a cheap date.” He leans forwards slightly. Ray does hesitate stepping forwards too, because fuck it, Ryan’s hot and dangerous and he isn’t against the idea of being whisked away to whatever penthouse suite he owns and shown a good time. And failing that, fuck it, Ryan’s clearly loaded. Ray can spy a hundred-dollar bill loose in his inside blazer pocket, and he’s sure he can swipe it if he’s got the older man’s attention.

“Oh, I absolutely am.” he flirts. “But at least a dollar cheeseburger before we take things further.”

Ryan grabs Ray’s wrist right as his dainty fingers are about to slip into Ryan’s pocket. He smiles.

“See, you didn't quiet have my focus the same way I had yours.” Ryan releases his wrist, and then holds Ray’s phone out, handing it back to him.

“Asshole, how’d you do that?!” Ray exclaims, snatching his phone back.

“It’s easy.” Ryan says. His gaze is so intent; Ray can't help but get a little lost in his eyes. “I draw your attention here-” he rests his hand on Ray’s cheek, and _fuck_ his hands are softer than they look. “I steal from here.” Before Ray can blink, one of the watches in his pocket is on Ryan’s wrist.

“I make you look here,” he takes Ray’s hand, curling it in his own larger one, “and then I steal from here.” Ray doesn’t even feel his satchel bag lift off his shoulder, because he can practically feel Ryan’s pulse, slow and steady at his wrist next to Ray’s own rapid one.

“Holy shit.” He smiles, snatching the bag back. “Got any other tricks?”

“Well, depending if you really do swing my way, you might want to kill me if you knew where my hand was right now.”

Ray jumps, and Ryan hands him back his wallet, lifted from his back pocket. He can’t help but grin, because Ryan just looks like he’s having the time of his fucking life and Ray’s suddenly more eager to learn than he’s ever been in his life.

 “Holy shit, you’re pretty good-” Ray says with a shrug. Ryan smirks.

“I’m better than good.” he says, holding up Ray’s house keys. Ray snatches them back with a smile, but then Ryan’s holding up his DS in the other hand.

“Aright, stop showing off!” Ray laughs. Ryan joins him.

“You’ve gotta be the best to work how I do. I’ve got a whole team who I run jobs with.”

“Well… do you think I can join?”

Ryan smirks, and starts walking away back through the snow. Ray never goes down that easily, so he chases after, grabbing at Ryan’s hand. “Come on, you can't just leave me after that!” he whines. “Now I’m fucking interested.”

“Sorry kid. We’re not hiring.”

Ryan tucks his hands into his pockets, and walks away, leaving Ray alone, standing in the snow.

 

 


	2. Ray, Meet The Fake AH Crew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ray grinds him down.
> 
> Ryan gives in, maybe a little too easily.

Chapter Two

 

 

**_6 WEEKS LATER_ **

 

****

“Go home, kid.” Ryan says, glancing up over the rims of his dark sunglasses. Ray is standing watching him at the bar with his fingers dancing playfully on the silky wooden surface. He looks more than caught off guard, obviously thinking Ryan hadn’t noticed him hanging around and staring for the past ten minutes. Careless.

Ray collects himself after the initial shock, and takes a seat on the barstool beside Ryan, who sighs.

“My team is running this club today. Go home.” He repeats sternly. Ray leans forwards on his hands, pouting. Ryan’s eyes are drawn to the heavy black watch and dainty diamond bracelet around the kid’s wrist. At least it’s real, this time.

“Aw, but there are so many pretty watches around. Or at least, there _were_.” Ray teases, opening his polyester blazer slightly to reveal a few more watches, sitting snugly in his pockets. Ryan’s eyes barely skim them, unimpressed, before he turns back to look out of the window and onto the golf course where the players are setting up for their tenth hole.

“Cute, but amateur.” He shrugs. “Go home.”

“Aren’t you at least impressed I managed to tail you here?!” Ray asks with a pout, standing up as Ryan does and following him over to a table by the window. The table is marked as _reserved_ , but Ryan sits down anyway. Ray takes the seat opposite him, and a drinks menu is quickly set down by a waiter. He ignores it, and Ryan orders two glasses of water.

“Make mine a Dr Pepper.” He says. The waiter stares at him like he’s speaking another language.

“We don’t serve… _Dr_ _Pepper_ here, sir.” He says, more than a little disgust in his tone at Ray’s drinking preference. Ray rolls his eyes as Ryan holds up his hand, dismissively.

“Water will be fine for him.” he says. “Put a lemon in it, if it’ll stop him pouting.”

Ray grin is wide, because he can see the slightest hint of an amused smirk mirrored on Ryan’s face.

“So you _do_ like me? I’m pretty proud I managed to find you with just a name, are you sure you’re not impressed?”

Ryan reaches into his pocket, holding up Ray’s thick black wristband he’d been wearing only minutes ago. “Not yet impressed.”

“Oh come on,” Ray laughs, reaching under the table to route through his pocket. “We match.” Ryan’s wallet, stolen less than a few minutes before dangles between his fingers.

Ryan actually looks surprised, for once, and pushes his sunglasses onto the top of his head. Ray smiles.

“Trade ya? Your wallet for a job.”

Ryan’s face, as usual is a mask but Ray can sense the teasing note in his tone. “So,” he asks “you don’t want the wristband?”

Ray shrugs. “I got it for a dollar at an arcade. I'll live without it.”

Ryan tosses the wristband back at him, and snatches his wallet back. The waiter walks over with a jug of ice water, and two glasses. Ray’s has a soggy, sad-looking lemon laying at the bottom.

 “Can you do more than watches?” Ryan asks, pouring a glass.

Ray shrugs. “I’ve got pretty nimble fingers.” Almost to prove it, he waves them playfully, before taking the heavy water jug from Ryan and pouring his own glass. Ryan sips.

“That’s true, but you can't make a living off wallets and watches.” He says, setting his glass down on the table with a quiet thud. “My business is a lot… broader than that. You can't get away with a wink and a watch in my game.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ray asks.

Ryan smirks. “Your methods, they’re tired. You think because you sweet talked me a little and you're cute enough to take my wallet, you can handle anything bigger than that?”

“Well, I don’t know,” Ray leans forwards. He bats his eyelashes a few times, fingers creeping across the table to rest on Ryan’s forearm. He drags his finger up the veins at his wrist slowly, all whilst looking at Ryan through his eyelashes. “I can try… I know how to make things work.”

Ryan is silent for a moment, and Ray thinks _yes_ , because _maybe_ , _this time_ he’s got him. Then, Ryan grabs his wrist, and places it back down on the table sternly.

“So your seduction is really, very poor- how did I fall for this?” he asks. Ray pouts, but bats his eyelashes a few more times. “C’mon, does it even feel sexy when you do it?”

Ray’s face drops and he rolls his eyes. “Whatever, I'll work on it.” He leans forwards and his elbows make the table wobble. “Now can I join your super-secret organisation of con-men and pickpockets?”

“No.” Ryan says, sipping at his water again. Once he’s set the glass down, he stands, straightens his jacket and slips his sunglasses back on his face. “Goodbye, Ray.”

He’s only got maybe four feet away when Ray calls him back. He turns, ready to roll his eyes and tell the kid to _quit bothering_ him, he’s already said no.

But Ray’s sitting there looking all too pleased with himself, Ryan’s watch dangling from one hand, and his driver’s licence in the other. Ryan can feel himself metaphorically falling forwards, tumbling into the abyss and the enigma of the skinny Hispanic looking New York kid. He’s giving in far too quickly- he’d made Michael work twice as long to earn his spot.

“Hm.” He huffs. Ray’s shit eating grin is far too attractive to resist for long. “What are you doing tonight?”

 

* * *

 

The carpark is empty and Ryan’s car is black and sleek and shiny. Not flashy, necessarily- as Ryan’s favourite thing _is_ blending in, but it’s nice. It shows he’s got a few dollars in his pockets and a reasonably intelligent head on his shoulders.

The seats are a supple dark leather, and Ray rests comfortably in the passenger, listening to Ryan talk next to him.

“We work an area for a week, two weeks’ maximum. Big events, festivals, small individual takes, just the kind of stuff that you’re good at, kid. The watches and the wallets, you know?”

“Remind me why you thought I couldn’t handle this?” Ray asks. Ryan smirks.

“I knew you could do the work; I just wasn’t sure if you were… understated enough. Being able to blend in, being forgettable- it’s key in this job.”

“I don’t know dude; I think I’d remember _your_ blue eyes anywhere.”

Ryan rolls his eyes. “Yeah, you definitely need to work on your flirting. Abysmal, honestly.”

Ray laughs at that. He likes that Ryan doesn’t handle him with kid gloves. He likes that Ryan isn’t afraid to say what he’s thinking. He likes guys who are a little rough around the edges, a little mysterious.

Sure, Ryan’s more than a _little_ mysterious, but he fits all the other criteria well enough that Ray can’t quite get the con-man far from his thought for very long. A job’s a job and a fuck’s a fuck, but Ryan really has him considering merging the two.

“So what are we doing here?” Ray asks. “Not that I mind being alone in a small space with you for a prolonged period of time, of course.”

Ray thinks, for a second, he can see a smile on Ryan’s face.

“We’re waiting for Gavin, he’s just finished up with a job here.”

“Here?” Ray looks around the empty carpark confusedly. There’s nobody around for miles, let alone a bar or club or restaurant in sight.

“There.” Ryan points across the street from where they sit, at an ATM machine. A woman approaches the machine, plugs in her card and stabs at the keypad a few times. Ray frowns, because there isn’t anything weird about the situation. The woman takes her card and leaves the ATM, and the carpark falls silent again.

“I don’t-”

“Sh.”

Ray’s lips are smushed by Ryan’s finger and he pouts. Ryan just rolls his eyes, and nods back to the ATM. “Watch.” He instructs, taking Ray’s chin gently in his fingers and turning his face towards the windscreen.

Annoyed, Ray allows himself to be turned back to the machine. A man, tall and skinny with light brown hair bops down the street, way too cheerful for the silent night. He approaches the ATM machine, looks around him for a few seconds, before reaching for the machine, lifting it off the wall to reveal another ATM underneath, and walks away with it.

“Holy shit!”

“I know.” Ryan smirks. “Fake ATM. We get their bank details in less than a second. Gavin put a bunch of these outside dollar stores up and down the east coast, made ten million before anyone caught on.”

“That’s fucking smart.” Ray marvels, as Gavin disappears back into the shadows. “How many of these did you run?”

“Only a few.” Ryan explains, pressing a button so the car clicks and unlocks. “Enough to make money, not enough to get noticed.”

“I don’t know,” Ray scoffs. “I think I’d notice if a bunch of cash went missing after using an ATM in a shifty carpark.” He folds his arms, slinking back into the chair. Ryan just smirks at him.

“We’re careful.” He says. “Never take enough to get noticed. Transactions disguised as petty charges, like bracelets, coats, shoes. The husband gets annoyed that his wife has spent four hundred dollars on a dress he’s never seen and the wife is suspicious when the husband buys a twelve-hundred-dollar bracelet and doesn’t give it to her.”

“So you’re just destroying relationships _and_ making a profit? That’s some real sadist shit you got going on.” Ray smirks. Ryan rolls his eyes, but doesn’t bother hiding the smile from his face. “The real kick? Both of them are actually cheating, so neither asks any questions in case _they_ end up caught.”

“That can’t always work!” Ray laughs. Ryan shrugs.

“It doesn’t always. But we run other fraud scams. In a bar, you can swipe someone’s wallet without them noticing in a second. But it’s the twenty-first century, people don’t carry around eight hundred dollars in cash, it’s all on their cards. They go home, notice they’ve lost their wallet, and cancel their cards. We don’t make more than a hundred bucks, and have thirty unused driving licences.”

“So what do you do?” Ray asks. Ryan’s small smile only grows.

“We swipe the wallets, scan the cards through our system, break the PIN codes, and then, that same night, we put the wallets right back where we found them. Nobody suspects a thing.”

“That’s fucking genius!” Ray exclaims with a laugh, “How do you come up with all this shit?”

“Most of it came from my dad.” Ryan explains, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. Ray doesn’t miss the sudden anxious behaviour, or the way Ryan’s body stiffens slightly.

“Touchy subject?” he asks. Ryan looks at him, and nods silently. Ray shrugs. “Dad’s suck. Mine was an asshole, walked out on me when I was a kid. What about yours?”

“He walked out on me too, but not when I was a kid. I was maybe… seventeen, eighteen when he left. And he had… reason.” Ryan says, ominously. Ray doesn’t press for questions, because something tells him that Ryan doesn’t give up much information about himself willingly. “He was always… hard on me.” Ryan eventually continues, after a pause. Ray just watches him, the way Ryan can’t look him in the eyes anymore, can’t tear his gaze from the empty carpark.

Ray’s never been very good at holding his tongue, so he can’t help but ask. “What happened to him?”

“There was a job.” Ryan says, so quietly that Ray has to lean in slightly to here. “Him and his dad, my grandfather. They were in the thick of it, deep undercover, and someone found them out. So they pulled the _Toledo Panic Button_.”

“What’s that?” Ray asks. Ryan finally turns to face him, and Ray almost shivers because he knew Ryan’s eyes were pretty blue but _when_ did they get so _cold_?

“When you’ve been caught, and you have no other option- you shoot your partner to prove that you’re not working together.”

“Holy shit.” Ray whispers. Ryan smiles, but he looks more bitter than anything. “You just… kill your partner?” Ray asks. Ryan shakes his head.

“You’re meant to aim so they live but… it’s tricky. My dad’s used the panic button three times… and he’s oh-for-three.”

Ray gulps. Ryan doesn’t say anything else, and Ray doesn’t push for any more information. Now, he isn’t sure if he even wants to know.

The passenger door and the back door click as they open, and Ray jumps as he is met face-to-face with a man he doesn’t know. He’s got waves of tattoo’s covering both his arms, eyes just as blue and icy as Ryan’s and some pretty elaborate looking facial hair. He doesn’t make any acknowledgment of Ryan, just looks at Ray and mutters, “You’re in my seat.”

Ray let’s a started _oh_ slip from his mouth before hopping out of the car and climbing round to the back. Already seated, he recognises Gavin, who gives him a somewhat friendly smile. Ray awkwardly sits back in his seat and catches eyes with Ryan in the rear view mirror. Ryan looks away after a few seconds, and pulls the car out of the carpark, driving off into the night.

“Hey,” Geoff huffs, looking to Ryan. “You hitting that?” he nods behind, to Ray, who blushes bright red.

“I’m right here, bro!”

“I’m not.” Ryan ignores Ray, replying to Geoff. “He’s the kid I was telling you about.”

“Ray?” Geoff turns, smiling at him. Ray hesitantly accepts the older man’s handshake, and nods. Gavin grins, as Geoff says, “Welcome to the Fake AH Crew, buddy.”

 

* * *

 

 

The first encounter Ray has with the whole crew, happens at a St Patricks Day parade. It’s a pick-pocket’s dream, thousands of unsuspecting tourists milling about the area, pockets stuffed with cash and looking for a good time. Surprisingly to Ray, Ryan doesn’t lead the group, Geoff does, pulling them to a stop outside a bar and explaining the rules.

Geoff introduces him formally to Jack, who seems to be his right hand man, Gavin, the genius kid he already knows, and Michael, who looks like he _could_ be Irish with his pale skin and almost auburn hair. Still, they seem like a nice enough crew, Ryan respects them, and it’s clear within the first mere minutes of meeting them that they know their shit, and they know it well.

“Right,” Geoff announces. “Our first target is that rich lady by the sidewalk with the pearls.” He looks to Ray. “Nobody using a cane or in a wheelchair, that’s bad luck.” He rattles off, like articles on a list that he’s read a thousand times before. “Uhh… _Michael_ , you’re the shadow- Gavin’s the stake. I’ll do a quick survey; three fingers means outside pocket two fingers is inside pocket. If bulky or large, I’ll scratch my nose, unless I use my thumb- then I’m actually scratching my nose- you getting all this, kid?”

Ray’s expression only turns more vacant. “What?”

Geoff smirks. “Never mind. Plan B it is.”

Ray’s used to wallets and watches, but the Fake AH Crew have their sights set on bigger things. Ray’s surprised to know that they’re just the main six, and they actually have thirty other people or so littered throughout the festival, helping them swipe from right under people’s noses.

Ray watches in awe as Michael bumps into one tourist with a camera hanging around their neck, distracting them long enough for Gavin to unscrew the fancy zoom lens and toss it behind him, to a girl with blonde hair who slips it into her bag.

Ryan bumps him with his shoulder, and he realises he’s been stood stock still. “Close your mouth, you’ll catch flies.” He mutters by Ray’s ear, making him shiver. Ray shoves him off playfully, and Ryan chuckles darkly, heading off into the crowd.

The festival is fun, but Ray feels more at home in the bars and the clubs that they work, a different block every night, making their way around. Geoff watches from the bar as he nurses drinks, supervising more than anything, but Ray see’s that his fingers are itchy and he can’t help making a few grabs for himself.

Ray works efficiently enough, because he’s finally where he’s comfortable. As Ryan’s told him, he’s a grifter at heart, and these locations are where he truly thrives.

After they work the day parties and the wild nights, they meet back in a penthouse apartment Geoff apparently has been renting. Their stolen goods are categorized, separated, labelled, valued and then immediately shipped off to the highest bidder. It’s a fucking efficient system, Ray can give Ryan that.

He enters the penthouse and dumps a few wallets he snagged on the way there, looking around for Ryan. Someone notices him searching, and nods into a backroom. Ray nods in thanks, only slightly unnerved that people just _know_ who he’s really here for. It kind of takes away from the whole animosity thing he was trying to build.

Ryan’s in a backroom talking to a black girl with black and purple hair, who sits at a desk, examining a bunch of jewellery as Ryan watches and asks questions. Ryan looks up as Ray walks in, and actually smiles like he’s happy to see him.

“Ray, this is Mica. She does all our precious jewellery.”

“Hi, Ray. Nice to meet you.” She says brightly, before turning back to her work. Ray can only offer a limp wave, because something else has caught his eye.

He approaches the table, fingers drumming on the edges. He knows what he wants to hold, but doesn’t want Ryan to snap at him, so he looks up, searching his face for permission. Ryan rolls his eyes but nods, and Ray’s hands dart out at a thin silver band, tiny diamonds surrounding the edges.

“This is fucking gorgeous.” He says, eyes wide as he turns it over in his hands, before slipping it on his wrist.

“It looks very beautiful on you.” Ryan nods. Ray’s mouth spreads into a smile, caught between marvelling at the jewellery and marvelling at the look on Ryan’s face. He’s spent enough time with Ryan to know when he’s being genuine, and he’s pretty sure this is one of those times.

“Can I…” he trails off, unsure how to structure his question. Ryan smirks at him.

“Can you keep it?” he asks. Ray nods, excitedly. “No.” Ryan deadpans, and Ray pouts, spinning the bracelet around his skinny wrist.

“Please?” he whines. Ryan laughs, and takes Ray’s hand so delicately in his, Ray almost swoons. However, the feeling fades quickly when Ryan unclips the band and slips it off of Ray’s wrist.

“No. We sell _everything_ , that’s how we keep ourselves safe.” He says. Ray doesn’t bother arguing, because Ryan’s word is usually pretty final. Mica looks up between the two, and smiles. Ray isn’t sure why, until he turns back to face Ryan, and notices he’s still holding his hand. Ryan’s thumb rubs over the skin at Ray’s pulse point softly.

“It did look pretty, though.” He adds as an afterthought, before dropping Ray’s hand and heading out the room.

 

* * *

 

Aside from Ryan and Mica, Ray does get other friends in the crew. They’re a friendly enough bunch, and when you’re out committing petty crimes with the same twenty or thirty people a day, it comes in handy to learn their names in case you end up in a scrape.

He likes Geoff. Under his initial abrasive impression, he’s actually a giant softie who treats pretty much everyone on the team like his clan of mismatched kids. Jack does the same, but it’s like Geoff is the caring dad and Jack’s the friendly uncle who shows up a few times a month with remote controlled helicopters and candy.

Michael and Gavin are like the fun brothers, in an oddly close way. Maybe not brothers then. They’re not exactly _together_ but they’re close, Ray can see that. He doesn’t question it, because it really isn’t any of his business anyway.

Gavin’s always up for fun and Michael’s awesome at video games so the three hang out together, making up crazy pranks and new schemes to try out in the field. Ray’s sitting in a four-star restaurant at one o’clock in the afternoon with Michael opposite him in a suit, grinning at him over the menu.

“Fuck off dude, people might think we’re on a date.” Michael teases. Ray grins.

“Honey, don’t be like this.” He jokes, setting the menu down and leaning forwards on his hands, blowing kisses to Michael across the table, making them both laugh.

“Come on dude, I don’t need Ryan giving me the ‘stay away from my girl’ conversation.” he smirks. Ray glares at him.

“Fuck off, we’re not like that.” He says. He doesn’t mention how much he really believes that, because _yeah_ there are some feelings there under sheer admiration and curiosity that he hasn’t really decided to dwell on. He’s always had issues with commitment and he doesn’t feel like he really needs to rectify those.

“Sure.” Michael rolls his eyes. “You spend so much time together, I bet you’re already opening your hearts as well as your assholes to each other.”

Ray rolls his eyes. “No, actually. We just talk about like… life and stuff. Like Ryan told me about his dad and his grandfather and all that shit. Sucks, really.”

“Holy shit.” Michael chokes a little on his white wine. “ _Ryan_ told you that?”

“What… he shouldn’t’ve?” Ray asks. Michael’s brow furrows.

“No… I just, I’ve always heard that story. Like an urban legend, even, but never from the horse’s mouth. He doesn’t like to… talk about himself a lot I guess. And we’ve been friends for years! He’s known you for five fucking minutes!”

“So,” Ray shrugs. “What’s that supposed to mean? Jealous?”

Michael’s lips twitch at that. Sort of a smile, sort of an _I-know-more-than-you-do_ smirk. It makes Ray feel uneasy.

“I just… I guess he must really like you, that’s all.”

The table falls quiet, Ray staring at his bread-based starter. He doesn’t want to go into whatever it is that’s brewing between him and Ryan because usually when he tries to control a situation he takes things way out of hand and ends up fucking himself over before anything really starts. Whatever happens, if anything does happen, will just have to fall into place naturally.

Michael locks eyes with him. Ray looks past Michael, to Jack at a table a few down from him, who rubs his ear and yawns. Ray blinks at Michael twice.

Michael clutches his chest and falls to the floor.

It surprises Ray how quickly he can bring the tears on, looking around and begging the unsuspecting lunch-goers to help his dear friend, call an ambulance etcetera-etcetera. As their focus is drawn to Michael, the crew can do their work, collecting wallets and watches and handbags and jewellery. It’s almost fun, like a drama workshop as he is hysterically guided to an ambulance by a muscular, smouldering paramedic with piercing blue eyes and wavy brown hair.

It feels like barely any time as passed at all before Ryan’s grinning at him as the ambulance chugs down the road, away from the restaurant with Michael laid out on the gurney.

“Wait,” Ray laughs. “Who was the super hands-y policeman? I didn’t recognise him!”

“He was _real_!” Ryan laughs, a loud deep laugh that echoes around the tiny ambulance. “He just showed up.”

“Who does that to a guy whose best friend’s just keeled over and _died_.” He giggles. “He made it to at _least_ second base with me. I felt _violated_.”

“Well, you do look pretty good in those pants.”

“Oh you think so?” Ray smirks. Ryan nods, a barely there smile lingering on his face with his hands tucked into his pockets.

“I do.”

“Alright.” Michael sits up, shoving the oxygen mask off his bed. “I don’t need to hear an excerpt from your night phone sex sessions. Pull over, Brandon, I’ll get the fucking subway home.”

 

* * *

 

That night, once they’ve returned to the base and everyone starts leaving to go to their homes, Ray finds himself alone and certainly not for the first time with Ryan in the penthouse apartment stroke office. It’s a weird habit he’s forming, to constantly try and get alone time with Ryan. He isn’t sure what it is about it being just the two of them, but Ryan just seems so much more relaxed and open when they’re alone. It’s as if he can drop the façade of _scary-boss-man_ and just be himself, for once.

“Here.” He says, approaching Ray who sits by the windowsill. “New ID card, fake passport, fake drivers licence. Just in case you get into any trouble once this is over.”

Their fingers brush as Ray takes the cards from Ryan, running his thumb over his own ID picture softly. His fake name, _Jake Rahul Montez_ is perfectly awful and stereotypical. “I love them.” He laughs. “Fucking _Montez_ , really nailing those clichés.”

“I try.” Ryan shrugs, leaning against the wall next to the window. His body language is very cool and suave (as usual) but the goofy smile twitching at his lips speaks for him entirely. “I even got you the fake driver’s licence knowing that you don’t even have the real thing.”

“Never had the time, I guess.” Ray shrugs. “But thank you. For everything Ryan, seriously-”

“Don’t thank me yet.” Ryan says. “There’s still a lot of work to be done.”

“Thank you.” Ray repeats, smirking up at Ryan. “Now, what’s next?”

“There is an electronic key in there. I got you a new place to stay… I hope you’ll like it.”

“Wow, sweet.” Ray holds up the toggle, letting it dangle between his fingers. “You know if I can get a cab there from here?” he asks. Ryan hesitates, hands bunched in his pockets as he glances out the window. “I can take you.” He finally offers. Ray smiles.

“Oh, that would be great. I mean, if that’s okay for you.”

“Yeah, it’s fine…” Ryan trails off. Ray hasn’t missed how Ryan won’t look him in the eye. He quirks a brow. “You sure?”

“Yeah.” Ryan nods.

“You are a pretty good driver.”

“I am… sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” Ray smiles. Ryan looks away from him, steps forwards off the wall.

“Maybe you should take that taxi.” He mutters.

“Perhaps I should.” Ray nods. He hops off of the window, fake ID cards tucked in his pockets. He doesn’t say anything else to Ryan, just bops out of the penthouse and into the snow. He walks down the street, and makes it into a cab just before the rain starts.

His new apartment is very Ryan. Expensive, yet understated. Classy, yet simple. It’s a paradox of a building, if he’s ever seen one.

He’s barely made it out of his jeans and into basketball shorts when the doorbell rings, Ryan on the other side. The shoulders of his suit are dark from the rain, his hair stuck against his forehead. Ray doesn’t bother speaking. Words have always got him in trouble, fucked things up for him. For once, he doesn’t overthink it. He takes a chance.

He leans up, and kisses Ryan. Ryan reaches down to his thighs and lifts him up, kicking the door shut behind him with his foot. He carries Ray to his bed, lays him down on it gently. When Ryan finally pulls out of the kiss to slip his damp blazer off, Ray smirks up at him.

“Took you long enough.”

Ryan huffs a gentle smile, fingertips settling at Ray’s hips, creeping up under his shirt. “I wanted to be sure.” He whispers. “I wanted to be sure that you could be the one.”

Ray doesn’t ask what he means. In hindsight, perhaps he should’ve.

 

* * *

 

By the end of the next week their total take has amounted to one point two million dollars. In an uncharacteristically flashy display, Ryan decides to throw a party. Ryan’s barely sociably functional when they’re alone together, so after his slapdash speech thanking the team, he lurks in the corners and lets Geoff do the whole hosting thing. Ray sticks to his few close friends, but mainly hangs about with Ryan, eventually convincing him to be dragged over to the dance floor and he stumbles his way through a few songs. He surprises Ray by having actual natural rhythm, he just doesn’t really know what to do with it, which is so very Ryan in itself.

As the party dwindles down, Geoff nods for Ryan to follow him into the back room. Ryan drags him along too, a tight grip on Ray’s hand as they slip into the office, door shut behind them, muting the party.

“Here.” He says, sliding a briefcase over to Ryan. Ryan flicks it open and Ray can’t help but gasp at the stacks of money inside. He knew they had it… but he never imagined he’d _see_ with his own eyes what one point two million dollars looked like. “This is all of it,” Geoff says flippantly, like this isn’t the most money Ray’s ever seen in his life. “Yours, for now. As soon as you get to your safe-house, you can start wiring it all over.” He heads back to the door, and only then does Ray notice the half empty bottle of Jack Daniels in his fist. Geoff doesn’t even seem drunk, which is pretty impressive because he’s fairly sure Gavin only had three or four drinks and was puking over the balcony.

“But hey-” he pauses in the doorway, looking over to Ryan. “Don’t gamble this. Any of it, okay? Not until it’s been split evenly. You got it, Mr Mad King?”

Ryan sighs but nods, clicking the briefcase shut. “Yes, Geoff. I got it.”

Geoff smiles. “Good. Catch you kids later, stay safe.” He shoots a wink in Ryan’s direction, motioning to Ray with a thumbs up. Ryan blushes and Ray laughs softly.

Once Geoff is completely gone from the room, Ray entwines his fingers with Ryan’s, standing opposite him with a smile. “What was all that about?” he asks, twisting their hands around together. Ryan’s grip is firm in his, but the con-man doesn’t look him in the eyes, a tell-tale sign that he’s trying to hide something. It’s surprising to Ray that he’s learnt to read Ryan so quickly.

“Hey? Don’t shut me out dude. Mr Mad King?”

“It’s just a stupid nickname.” Ryan says dismissively, releasing from Ray and backing up to lean against one of the desks. Ray glares at him. “Come on, you can trust me, remember?” he takes Ryan’s hand back in his, stroking it gently with his thumb. Ryan smiles.

“You’re getting better at that.”

Ray grins. “I know. Now c’mon, spill.”

“Hey, I got you a present.” Ryan says, in a piss-poor attempt to distract him. Unsurprisingly, it works, because Ray loves surprises. His eyes light up, and he curses Ryan for being able to get him so easily. “What is it?”

Ryan reaches into his jacket, and frowns as he feels around for something. Ray grins, slipping the tickets out of his trouser pockets. “Looking for these?” he asks. Maybe it wasn’t such a surprise after all. Ryan smirks at him.

“You’re getting way too good at that, too.”

“I know.” Ray grins, sidling up to Ryan and handing him the football tickets. “You even remembered my favourite team.”

“Michael reminded me.”

“Yeah, I thought so. Now back to this Mad King thing…”

Ryan groans, but Ray is like a dog with a bone. He’ll never let go of anything. “Alright, fine- honestly, you love hearing stupid stories about me, don’t you?”

“They’re not stupid.” Ray snakes his arms up to Ryan’s shoulders. Ryan leans his head down to rest against Ray’s.

“Like I said. It’s a nickname.” He mumbles. Ray frowns.

“What, the _Mad_ _King_? Why is _that_ your nickname?”

Ryan sighs. “My dad gave it to me when I was younger. He always said that I was too… good, that I wasn’t hard enough for this lifestyle. He constantly hounded me about it, so I toughened up… and I guess I toughened up a little too much.”

Ray raises his eyebrows. “What did you do?” he asks. Now he’s genuinely curious. Before, it was just a game, one of his favourites- actually. Getting Ryan to reveal personal details about his life. Something about being able to get Ryan to reveal his secrets turns them both on. They’re psychopaths, clearly, but it works.

“A lot of… crazy stuff” Ryan says vaguely. Ray scoffs.

“Like I’m gonna rope-swing off the Los Santos pier crazy or I’m gonna murder five people crazy?” he asks with a smile. Ryan doesn’t laugh back.

“What do you think?”


	3. The Great Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To celebrate a job done well, Ryan takes Ray to a ball game.
> 
> Things escalate rapidly from there.

Chapter Three

 

 

Ray isn’t a sports guy, that’s obvious enough to anyone at first glance. He’s short and skinny in the fact that he’s naturally just _little_ , but pudgy enough around his midsection to show he isn’t this skinny by choice, and is actually probably fairly unhealthy. He sure as hell can’t run further than a mile unless it’s life-threatening and can probably bench just about the weight of a medium sized dog.

He’s not a sports guy, but there’s something about football that he _loves_. He loves the intricate plays, he has crushes on the beefy players, he admires the half-time shows with the cheerleaders and the bands and the general sense of community that you see when a whole team crowd unite together, whether it be to celebrate a win or commiserate a loss.

It’s something he never saw when he was younger, usually being confined to the nerdy kid table by the trash cans, only ever hiding under the bleachers to sneak a look at practice during his gay-crisis years.

But now that he’s an adult, comfortable with his ever fluctuating sexuality and sure as hell not afraid of the same group of teenage girls who picked on him when he was younger- he has certain privileges. He can watch TV. He can _go to games (_ as long as someone else is paying).

Ryan is good at buying him things, and when he pushes open the door to the stalls, high up above the stadium and the feral crowds Ray had admired as a teenager, he can’t help but hug the mysterious con-man tightly.

“Dude. This is fucking _awesome_.”

“Well, you earned it.” Ryan shrugs, hands casually thrown in his pockets. “You did good, kid. Better than I thought you would. Now let’s go sit, the game’s starting soon.”

Ryan takes his hand and leads him over to the plush leather seats above the stadiums crappy plastic substitutes, and Ray blushes like a fourteen-year-old with a crush on Leonardo DiCaprio (he _is_ pretty dreamy) as Ryan lets him sit down first, puts his arm around him and orders him a Dr Pepper.

It’s almost like a dream, not only is he sitting in the stall seats that cost Ryan either a fortune or at least ran the risk of seriously being caught red handed by some big time executive that probably drank too much and got sloppy during their week of work- but his team isn’t playing like shit for once, the food is even better than it looks and he hasn’t gotten one weird look for his _Pierce The Veil_ graphic T-shirt and checkerboard vans.

“Oh come on! That should’ve been a catch!” He yells down into the pitch. Ryan smirks at him, and when Ray quirks an eyebrow as if to ask _what?_ He sighs.

“I suppose this is a bad time to admit that I know approximately nothing about football.”

Ray laughs at that, because although he lacks the skinny-fat physique and the addiction to Xbox Live, it’s very clear that Ryan isn’t a sports guy either.

“Fine, nothing worse than watching football with something who doesn’t know anything about it. Let’s play around for a bit.”

“Ray please, there are other people here.” Ryan smirks.

“Ha-Ha, not what I mean, asshole.” Ray rolls his eyes. “How much says that guy there,” he points to the crowd, “…catches that hot dog?”

“Ten dollars says he doesn’t, _and_ the hot dog hits that old lady next to him.”

Ray grins at Ryan. “You’re on.”

They watch, breath held and fingers gripped tightly on the armrests of their seats as the vender lines up for the toss. The dog flies metaphorical miles away from its destination, and knocks the glasses off of the pensioner, who was absentmindedly watching the players vacate the pitch for the halftime show.

“Ten bucks, cough it up.” Ryan says smugly, hand already outstretched.

“No fair! How did you know that was going to happen?”

Ryan smirks, but Ray shoves him gently in the arm, so he relents. “The problem wasn’t that the guy couldn’t catch, it’s that that the vender couldn’t throw” he explains. Ray only gives a dismissive scoff before mumbling. “Sounds like bullshit. How could you possibly know that?”

“Because, he accidentally hit baby with a Klondike bar ten minutes ago. Just gotta be looking in the right places.” Ryan shrugs. Ray laughs.

“You’re a real observant asshole, you know that?” He says, routing around his pockets for the ten-dollar bill, which he then shoves into Ryan’s gloating fist.

“Thank you.” Ryan just grins, as smug as ever. “Double or nothing? You pick the bet this time?”

“Fine, at least then you can’t cheat.” Ray folds his arms, scanning the crowd for a few seconds, before settling on his mark. “Right, there,” he points to a man, sitting upright on in his seat with blue face-paint covering his entire head. “Double or nothing, that guy is too drunk to get out of his seat for the Mexican wave.”

Ryan considers the man for a second, before nodding. “You’re on.” He says, eyeing the wave that is fast approaching their side of the stadium. It comes around quickly and messily, like an inconsistent tsunami before finally arriving to their area. Ray’s hands are gripped into nervous fists as he watches the blue-painted man sway a little, watch the others around him. For a second, he looks like he’s considering standing up, but as fast as the wave approached, it moves on, leaving him swaying in the sea of happy faces.

“Yes!” Ray cheers. “Victory, cough it up.”

Ryan sighs but hands Ray his ten dollars back, before pulling out his wallet and handing over another ten. “You play a good game, Narvaez.”

“You know it. Let’s go again, this is fun!”

“Alright, next bet- winners pick.” Ryan gestures towards the crowd, smiling amusedly at Ray’s excited expression. Ray scans the audience with narrowed eyes looking for another _sure thing_ that’ll secure him maybe fifty dollars and a blow-job in the bathroom later.

“Okay- fifty bucks on how many guys stare at that girl’s ass,” he points down into the crowd at the blonde girl in the short denim shorts who’s gathering her bag and standing up, edging through her row to make it to the steps. Ryan nods, “Okay, you’re on. I’ll say three.”

Ray shakes his head. “Nah. Five, at least bro.”

“Six.”

They both turn when they hear a voice beside them. A Mexican-looking guy with wild eyebrows, square glasses and an expensive looking suit sits in the seat across from them. “And make it a hundred dollars.” he adds with a grin, pulling the money out of his wallet.

Ray silently looks to Ryan for approval, and the con-man nods and shrugs and nods again. Ray grins.

“You’re on dude. Let’s find out if it was worth it.”

The girl makes her way up the stairs, and Ray counts aloud the heads that turn.

“One, two, three… four…” suddenly, they’re all on the edge of their seats as he makes her way to the bathroom door. Ray’s gripping his fist, because there’s no way in Hell he wants this one-hundred-dollar bet to go un-won. At the last second, a guy in a clown’s wig turns and nods with a pleased douchebag smirk.

“Yes! And that’s five!” Ray cheers excitedly. The Mexican guy hands over his money and Ryan does the same, bills slapped in Ray’s hand bitterly but amusedly.

“You earned it, I suppose.”

“What can I say? I know my douchebags.” Ray shrugs triumphantly, before his eyes land back on the man in the suit.

“Good game dude.” He smiles. “I’m Ray, this is Ryan.”

“Gus Sorola.” The guy extends a hand. “And this game doesn’t have to end. Say we make things interesting?”

“How interesting?” Ray asks. If he’s honest, he’d more than done with the bets. It was fun briefly and he _did_ make a hundred and twenty dollars- but the game’s picking up again and he would much prefer to watch his team win than entertain some rich guy diplomat in a suit at a football game.

“Two hundred dollars- that player scores the next goal.” He points down into the crowd. Ray shrugs.

“No thanks dude. We’re good.”

“You sure?” Sorola asks. Ray nods. “Suit yourself.”

“Make it five hundred, and you’re on.”

Ray turns and stares at Ryan like he’s grown a second head. The guy had just told him barely minutes ago that he knew nothing about football- and now he was trying to blow five hundred on the small chance at the burly looking guy in the blue jersey was going to make a field goal?

“Ryan, it’s not worth it.” He says with a disparaging wave of his hand.

Ryan ignores him, which hurts more than it should. Ray clamps his mouth shut- if Ryan wants to lose his money, fine. Ray’ll let him. Whatever, no big deal, right?

* * *

 

It starts to become a big deal once Ryan’s three and a half grand in the hole.

They’re not even by the seats anymore, Ryan’s dragged him by the hand up to the bar area, he and Sorola furiously battling it out with the action on the screens provided. Ryan loses bet after bet after bet whilst Ray sips at his Dr Pepper and silently pleads for it to stop.

“Fifty Thousand Dollars.” Ryan declares. Ray chokes on an ice cube. Sorola smiles, eyes crinkling disbelievingly, “You don’t have the money, gringo. Give up now.”

“I don’t have the money?” Ryan chuckles. “Wait here.”

Ryan returns ten minutes later. He has the money, of course he has the money- He’s got one point two million dollars stashed away in the trunk of his car. Fifty thousand dollars makes up a hefty portion of his take however, and something in Ray’s gut twists. Ryan doesn’t know anything about football- they’re betting on plays and Ryan doesn’t know anything about _football_.

“One Hundred thousand!”

“Five hundred thousand!”

“Ryan- stop! Please,” Ray pleads, trying to hold Ryan’s hands in his. Ryan doesn’t look at him- Ryan only watches the screen, watches the game, and then watches Gus Sorola count his money. “Stop this, right now Ryan.” Ray quietly demands, tears pricking the corner of his eyes as he finally gets Ryan to focus on him. “This isn’t just your money- this is my money, this is _everyone’s_ money that we _all_ worked for and I won’t let you lose another fucking cent of it!”

“What do you say, Haywood? Five hundred big ones- you in or you out?”

Ryan looks from Sorola, cocky and excited and ready to play down to Ray, timid and shaking slightly, eyes wet with unshed tears as he silently pleads _no._

“I’m in.”

“Don’t do it-” Ray gasps as Ryan shoves him roughly out the way. Ray lets himself fall down onto the step, sitting with his face rested in his hands. _This isn’t happening_ he thinks to himself. _This isn’t Ryan._

_“But hey-” Geoff pauses in the doorway, looking over to Ryan. “Don’t gamble this. Any of it, okay? Not until it’s been split evenly. You got it, Mr Mad King?”_

“Ryan, please.” He tries, but the words come out of his mouth in a flurry of choked sobs. Some Asian girl stood behind him gives him a pitied stare before turning back to the game. Ray’s been pitied before, he’s been pitied a thousand times before- but somehow this time it _hurts_.

Ryan loses again. Ryan isn’t good at loosing; Ray can see that in the way his eyes light up- the disastrous streak of _crazy_ that probably earned him his Mad King nickname. Why did Ray not think to do _his fucking research_ before shacking up with this psycho? He’d been blinded by the game and the scam and there Ryan was, pushing the entire bag- one point two fucking million dollars or whatever was left of it across the table like nothing, eyes fixed on the screen. Ray hasn’t even heard the bet, but he knows it’s probably reckless and stupid and improbable. He reads this directly from Sorola’s smirking expression.

Sorola and his (friends? Associates? Bodyguards? Ray isn’t sure) cheer triumphantly as Ryan’s knees shake and he leans against the table, head in his hands. Ray doesn’t need Ryan to look him in the eye to know that they’ve lost it. They’ve lost everything.

“Game over.” Sorola smiles. When Ryan’s head snaps back up, lip curled in a snarl- he looks a way Ray has never _ever_ seen him look.

He looks _desperate_.

“Double or nothing, pick any player, either team and I'll guess it.” He pleads, yanking a pair of expensive looking binoculars off the viewing platform and hands them over to Sorola, who shakes his head and laughs as he sips from his fresh martini.

“No way! Dude, you lost, get over it!”

Ray watches Ryan grit his teeth. “Double or nothing!” he yells.

“You’re crazy. I’m done.” Gus raises a few fingers off his drink in a flippant gesture of _nope, I’m out._ Ryan steps forwards, Sorola’s (definitely bodyguard. Maybe.) pushes him back with a surprisingly large hand.

“Fine.” Ryan runs his fingers through his hair frantically, eyes darting around the room. Ray is concerned for a second that Ryan will rip his beautiful brown locks out before he remembers that Ryan is an asshole with a gambling problem who probably deserves it. “I won't pick.” Ryan breathes, chest heaving as he turns to face Ray again. “…He will.” Ray follows Ryan’s finger and his line of sight directly around the room until it lands on…

 _Oh_.

“Ryan no!” the tears he thought were long dried from the shock leak from the corners of his eyes. “I’m not,” he hiccups, shaking his head frantically as Ryan yanks him up by the wrist. “I can’t!”

Ryan ignores his wailing. “He’ll pick.” He insists. “Double or nothing, Sorola. I have the money, trust me. What do you say?”

Gus pauses, turning to his (possible associate) and mutters something that sounds like Spanish, but could easily be anything else. “I say… I’m not turning down free money.” His face breaks out into a grin and he practically skips over to the binoculars, holding them up to his eyes and gazing down into the field below.

He scans the pitch for a few moments before he stops, and his lips curl into a smile. “I’ve got one.” He says, almost giddy with excitement. Ryan turns back to Ray.

“No, Ryan I’m not doing it!” Ryan’s outstretched hand snatches the binoculars from Gus, and thrusts them into Ray’s arms. “Stop, I can’t- I’m not doing it!”

“Hey, shh,” Ryan’s an asshole but something about his voice is infuriatingly soothing to Ray. Suddenly, he’s _Ryan_ again, madness dissolved from his gaze and fingertips soft across Ray’s bare arms.

“Ray look at me, pick a player.” He says, Ray sobs another no, and Ryan’s grip tightens with annoyance. “Any player.” He practically spits through gritted teeth. “Just look over the field and pick a fucking player.”

The last part comes out as more of a threat, and with one last hiccup, Ray takes the binoculars. They shake in his hands as he walks over to the viewing platform. Sorola gives him a sickening grin as he looks back at Ryan, briefly before turning back to the field. At first, he shuts his eyes and takes in a calming breath.

When he opens them again, vision freed from the blurry confinements of unshed tears the pitch becomes clear. Ray loves his football team, always has- it all stems back from before his dad left when they used to go to the games together, not that he’d ever admit it to himself. Ray knows all the history; he knows every play.

He knows every player.

His body freezes when his eyes fall down onto number forty-six. Ray knows his team. Ray knows all the history. Ray knows every play and he knows every player…

So why the fuck is _Michael Jones_ standing in the middle of the pitch as the game re-adjusts for the end of the half-time show? The realisation dawns on Ray in a sudden tug, like falling from a high place in a dream but so much better.

It’s a _con_ -

-the whole thing is a _fucking_ _con_. It takes a lot of self-restraint not to burst into a happy manic giggle, but he manages it. He clears his throat- Sorola probably thinks he’s still crying. He’s cool with that; he’s sure most twenty-six-year-old pickpockets would cry if they were made to think they lost one point two million dollars.

“Number uh…” he keeps the act up, because now he’s figured out Ryan’s little scheme- no matter how much of an asshole the con-man is, he knows he’s gotta help. Boy, he and Ryan are gonna _laugh_ over this later with expensive room service from the grand hotel down the street and _a lot_ of fucking.

“Forty…. Six?”

“No.” Sorola says. Ray pulls the binoculars away from his eyes and his face begins to crumple. He said it right… it was Michael-the whole time it was _Michael_. It was all a fucking con… wasn’t it?

“No?” Ryan steps forwards. The room is silent.

“No… fucking _way_ how did you do that?!” Sorola bellows out a laugh, waving his hand and muttering deliriously in Spanish as his (people? Perhaps that would be a better term) gather up Ryan’s money and a few briefcases’ worth of his own and slide it across the table for Ryan, who turns to Ray and grins with his arms outstretched.

Ray can’t help but run across the room into his hug- Sorola still expressing his astonishment behind them. “You’re an asshole.” Ray mutters into Ryan’s ear. Ryan doesn’t reply.

“Seriously- that’s some crazy shit!” Sorola laughs, giddily. Two point four million dollars is apparently nothing to a man like him. “Dude- we’re going to Vegas!” he points at Ryan and then to Ray where his finger lingers. “You’re a good luck charm, seriously kid! We’re going, right now!”

“We’ll pass.” Ryan chuckles, hand at Ray’s waist. “Next time?”

“You bet your fucking life next time! Bet a million fucking dollars- who does that shit! Crazy!” The transition from English to Spanish is instantaneous, but Ray doesn’t have time to pick out the little his mother insisted he learn so the family wouldn’t shame them because Ryan is leading him out of the building, bags heavy with cash in their hands.

 

* * *

 

Ryan laughs as Ray battles against his upper arm once they slide into the cab, swearing at him with a fat smile on his face and dried tears in the corner of his eyes. The money is stacked in the trunk, one last bag by their feet and the driver silent and invisible behind the partition.

“How?!” Ray demands. “You fucking asshole, _how_ did you do that?!”

Ryan smirks at him, but his eyes don’t sparkle. Ray is too caught up in the excitement of two point four million dollars sitting behind him in the trunk to notice.

“It’s an easier scam than you’d think,” Ryan explains. “I took you to that football game because we’ve been trailing Gus Sorola for a while and I knew he’d be there. It was the perfect honey trap.”

“Who is he?” Ray asks. “I’ve never heard of him before.”

“Rich as fuck business man- like old Spanish monarchy rich. He’s got connections all over Europe, and he’s a well-known gambler. With Sorola, the bigger and crazier the bet, the more he’s interested. Also notorious for being superstitious.”

“So that’s why you lost all the bets in the beginning?”

“I know a little more about football than I originally disclosed.” Ryan admits, tugging at his hair. “I grew up in the deep south after all, but whatever,” he waves his hand. “I lost the bets so Gus would think he was lucky.

“We’ve been trailing him all day, half of the team through this area. It’s rammed out, being game day, so it’s surprisingly easy to slip through the cracks.” He smiles.

“Just like the carnival?” Ray asks. Ryan nods.

“Yeah. All we had to do was imprint the number forty-six, Michael’s jersey, on him. All day, we’ve been silently screaming forty-six at him- his room number, the number plate on his rental car, the badge on the doorman, out in the streets on flags and advertisements. That, and mixing Michael in with the crowd often enough for him to catch Sorola’s eye- guaranteed he’d pick him.”

Ray frowns. “But… what if he didn’t? What if after all that, he decided to go against his gut instinct?”

Ryan’s foot begins to tap against the floor of the car. “It was a risk, as it always is- but Gus never goes against his gut instinct.”

“But what if he _had_?”

Ryan shrugs. “Keep doubling till he did.”

Ray laughs at that. Ryan is so flippant and casual, perched on the edge of his seat with his hands wrung together. He doesn’t look like someone who’d just won over two million dollars.

“You’re crazy, man.” Ray slinks back into his seat. “But you’re a fucking _genius_. Why wouldn’t you let me in on it? I could’ve helped!”

Ryan turns to look at Ray. He sits up slightly. “You… being there,” he explains, “completely blind… made the situation feel real for him. He’d never have guessed it was a con from the moment you started crying. It was real for both of you- real for everyone in the room, leaving me as the only player on the board with any real power. You being so… clueless, brought the genuine risk into play- and Sorola gets off on genuine risk.”

Ray is quiet for a few seconds. “That’s crazy.” He mumbles. Ryan shakes his head, smiling as he reaches forwards, cupping Ray’s face with his hand.

“You were my little blind mouse.” His voice is quiet. Ray blushes, usually when it’s quiet like this after a job and it’s just the two of them, Ryan will joke around and say he’s pretty, say he looked good doing whatever trick or play they worked on, say that he enjoyed watching him. Ryan says _little blind mouse_ in that same endearing tone, but for some reason, it doesn’t sound so much like a compliment.

“Well-”

“And you did so well, Ray, you were amazing.” Ryan releases his hand and Ray’s stomach twists. It all feels… _wrong_ still- the con, it doesn’t feel like they always do after a con. Ray’s earlier giddiness contorts into worry. Ryan’s eyes are dull and lifeless when they look at him, as opposed to hours before when they shone so brightly.

“Well thanks, but-”

“Honestly, thank you.” Blindly, Ryan reaches down into the bag at his feet, pulling out a few stacks of cash. Before Ray can question him, Ryan is thrusting the money into his hands. It’s his cut- he knows that, but why would Ryan give it to him here, of all places? He hasn’t got pockets big enough to carry what feels roughly like thirty grand.

Ray feels the car slow to a dead stop. The windows are tinted, but he can still make out the empty stretch of highway. It doesn’t make _sense_ \- but then, when has Ryan ever made any sense?

“For everything.” Ryan finishes, as a figure approaches the car door and opens it.

Ray sits forwards as Ryan begins to climb out of the car. “Ryan, where are you-”

“I’m sorry.” Is the last thing Ryan says to him, exiting the car completely with his duffle of cash in his hands. He slams the door behind him and when Ray scrambles to follow, he discovers it’s too late. The windows and doors are already locked, and the empty car suddenly feels small.

The money sits like dead weight in his lap as Ryan says something to the driver, who nods. Ryan walks past the window without sparing a second glance to him, and Ray’s heart lurches as fresh tears spill from his eyes. He turns, desperate to catch a glimpse, beg Ryan to tell him what’s going on- but the trunk opens and blocks his view as nameless faces unload the cash they’d been carrying.

When the trunk closes again, Ryan is nowhere to be seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY but this fic is tagged angst for a reason. Did you really think I'd let them be happy that easily?
> 
> Please leave a comment and check back here next week :) !


	4. Business Hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joel Heyman is one of the most successful motocross racers of his generation, and he has a request.

Chapter Four

 

 

_ 2 Years Later _

 

 

 

 

Out of all the pointless sports in the world, Motocross is one of the few Ryan actually admires. Unlike billiards or darts- it actually looks like it requires some strength and agility and it also look sort of fun. Once confided to the dirt roads of Nevada (and originally, most of London, England) the sport had blossomed and grown into an international spectacle, taking place all over the world.

Italy is a strange place for it, but Ryan will bite. He needs the work, over anything. That’s what it’s all about- after all. The work. That’s what it has to be about now.

Joel Heyman- although probably European-passing is one of the best America has to offer. Everyone who knows motocross (so admittedly, few people) know this. Ryan knows this, not because he knows motocross, but because Heyman is actually the one to reach out to him.

He likes Joel Heyman- the guy seems alright. Sure, he’s enlisting a con-man to fuck over his direct competition, fellow American rider Matt Hullum, but he seems like a decent guy. His assistant, however- Mr Burns… not playing so nicely. No surprises there.

“I don’t know about this, Sir.” Burns says to Heyman, like Ryan isn’t sitting directly opposite them on the small four-seater table. The only other noise filling then silence is the occasional rev of an engine as the riders practice down below on the track. Ryan rolls his eyes.

“I assure you, Mr Burns-”

“-call me Burnie.”

Ryan raises an eyebrow. “Burnie. Fine- I assure you, I can do this job, and I will do it so well… that nobody will even realise it’s been done.”

“Yeah, Burnie- it’s fine,” Joel waves his hand. “I’m confident that Mr Haywood has got this.”

“You’ve been out of your _business_ for what… two years?” Burnie asks, face sour. Ryan sighs, but nods. Honesty- that’s what he’s been working on since his absence to the life. Not being such a filthy god-damn liar.

“Alright, yes- I’ve been out. But, I can promise you that I _am_ still the best in the business, and I can do this.”

“How?” Burns asks. “How are you going to go about it?”

Ryan sits up straight, clicking his knuckles. “First of all, Mr Heyman, I will portray a… disgruntled engineer at your next party. I’ll be seen drinking, socialising- more drinking, then, I'll approach you and start an argument. I'll make it big and messy, ensuring that everyone will know who am and that I am angry-

“-Then, it won’t be too long until your rival, Matt Hullum approaches me. If not, I'll seek him out myself. I’ll give him the fake version of the plans for your engine booster, disguised as the real deal. The fake plans won't do anything, but I know how to mess with the bike systems so the results look real. You’ll win the race- But, I’m keeping however much money Hullum offers me.” He finishes. Ryan reaches across the table with his hand outstretched. Burns looks at him, face void of emotion. Joel Heyman smiles, and shakes his hand tightly.

“Sounds like a deal.” He nods. “See you tonight.”

* * *

 

Ryan’s got the party sussed out from the moment he steps foot in the room. The ballroom is grand, nothing out of the ordinary for Mr Heyman, filthy rich as most top athletes are. Champagne, fancy balloons, attractive women. Most things that Ryan has no connection with whatsoever.

Alcohol is another big one for him. He doesn’t drink on the job- he doesn’t drink at all, never having much of a taste for it. Nobody here knows that however, so when he walks over to the young bartender- a fresh-out-of-college looking kid with dark hair and impossibly youthful eyes, he lets his hands shake a little.

“Hi, uh- Chris, right?” he nods at the nametag. The bartender nods, and smiles widely at him.

“What can I get you, sir?” he asks, an unmistakably American accent ringing in Ryan’s ears. He doesn’t react to it- he’s not that much of an amateur, but it does surprise him.

“Just… I wanted to ask you a favour.”

“Sir?” Chris’ eyes flood with worry. Ryan’s made his mark with barely a few twitches of his hands and a flash of sadness in his eyes. Chris is his favourite kind of target- the easy kind.

“I’m a recovering alcoholic so I don’t drink but… the placebo, sometimes can be enough for me. I’m just asking you… if I come over here later and ask for vodka- just give me water, you know what I mean?” he asks. Chris’ expression softens and a smile forms on his lips once again. “Of course, sir!” he says, wiping a glass clean. “Anything to make things easier. You’re _so_ brave.”

Chris reaches across the table and places his hand over Ryan’s. Ryan frowns, a little unnerved at the sudden display of affection, and takes his hand away. Chris looks nervous, but also like a similar thing has happened to him many a time before.

 _Fucking weirdo_ , Ryan thinks, walking away from the bar with a wide smile and a cheery wave. He’s never used the word cheery to describe himself before, but there’s a first for everything.

His main focus for the party, or at least the first half, is to be as sociable as humanly possible. He needs to catch the attention of every person in the room before the main event of his dramatic showdown with Mr Joel Heyman himself, and an easy way to do that is to… well, be himself to some extent.

Ryan’s always been told he’s charming. He’s charismatic. He’s good looking (apparently). Getting people to like him has always come easy. Getting people to stop is usually the hard part.

His attention is taken by Heyman, clinking a glass with a silver fork. A grand toast for a grand event, Ryan thinks sardonically. He turns on his heel, fully intending to have the most bored and disgruntled expression possible plastered across his face, but something is wrong. It stops him- shocks him, makes him freeze. Ryan hasn’t frozen in years.

For a split second, Ray almost freezes right back at him.

He looks the same, mostly. His clothes are nicer, expensive dress shirt and pressed slacks clinging to his body attractively, sturdier looking glasses, a white smile. His eyes skim over Ryan so briefly, he starts to wonder if Ray saw him at all.

Something else about Ray is different.

The crowd’s attention is first taken by Burnie Burns, the warm up fluff piece introduction to the main speech. He’s the starting act, making sure everyone is feeling particularly light and happy to be listening to Joel Heyman’s often insane-sounding drivel. He’s awfully good at it too.

Whilst the crowd’s attention is deterred, Joel looks at Ray and grins. Ray grins back, just as wide with his hands on Joel’s arm, before he tiptoes up and presses a kiss to his jaw. Afterwards, his eyes trail back to Ryan, who is stood- frozen still in the middle of the crowd.

Chris approaches him with a tray and winks, handing him a glass of water. Ryan can barely compel the strength to lift it to his lips. Ray is fucking _here_ , in Italy of all places- and worse…

He’s Joel fucking Heyman’s boyfriend.

* * *

 

They meet outside, on the small veranda outside the ballroom. Everyone inside is far too busy having a good time to even notice their absence, so Ray is able to slip away unnoticed by his precious spouse. Ryan curses himself for feeling so bitter, but he just can’t help it.

“Hi.” He breathes. Ray looks up at him with shining, surprised eyes.

“Hi.” He smiles back. The two fall silent.

“Hi.” Ryan repeats. It’s enough to make Ray laugh, sipping from his (probably) sugary drink. Ryan doesn’t want to admit to himself that he’s missed that fucking laugh.

“It’s… been-”

“-A long time.” Ray agrees before he can finish with an awkward nod. Ryan bites his lip, hesitating briefly before asking, “So you're here… with Joel?”

Ray nods again. “Yeah, he uh- he’s a pretty big deal in the whole motocross world. I’m out here with him for his race. What are you doing here?”

“Business. What are you doing here?” Ryan queries. Ray frowns.

“I just told you… I’m here with Joel.”

“Oh- so he’s your mark?” Ryan asks. Whether he honestly believes Ray’s show to be true or not, he hopes the kid says yes. He hopes that it’s just another game, just another slip of the fingers in a rich driver’s pocket for a quick buck. He hopes that Ray didn’t forget about him.

“No,” Ray shakes his head. “Ryan it’s… it’s real. I…I left the game.” He finishes.

“Ray, I-” two year’s-worth of crippling guilt wash over him like a stinging cold wave, salt water leaking into his eyes and making them red and bloodshot. “…with regard to what happened back then-”

“Ry-”

“No, just-”

“I really don’t need an explanation.” Ray says. He set his empty glass down on the small table in the corner of the veranda. Ryan frowns at him, but Ray doesn’t let it throw him off. He’s cool, as ever. Ray is effortlessly cool and for once, Ryan is the mess. “I mean, I'm the one who should thank you. You did me a favour.” Ray shrugs. Ryan swears under his breath, cursing himself, his job, his life.

“That's fantastic.” He lies. There is a long and obnoxiously awkward pause following his hollow sentiment. Ryan wonders how quickly it will take for Ray to discover his petty deception. _That’s fantastic_ will ring in his ears forever. The umpteenth lie he ever told.

“Anyway…” Ray glances back to the door in which he came from. “Joel is probably wondering where I am. Take care of yourself, okay?”

“You too,” Ryan nods. “Take care.”

Ray heads towards the door, but something stops him. He turns, looking back at Ryan with wide brown eyes. “Ryan... he doesn’t know about my past, so-”

“You don’t know me, it’s cool. I get it.” Ryan fills in the blanks so Ray doesn’t have to say them. It doesn’t make it hurt less.

“Thank you.” Ray nods. He slips past the curtains and back through to doors into the party of the year, as some people had been calling it. Ryan’s fist curls in his pocket.

“You’re welcome.” He mutters.

* * *

 

He’d never been a fan of drinking in general, but maybe now was as good a time as any to start trying. Ryan marches over to the alternate bar where a slightly older, slightly hairier looking man is standing. His eyes are blue like Ryan’s, sharp nose, chiselled physique. This man is a lot of things Ryan could’ve been if he stuck on the morally sound side of life’s path.

“Get me uh… a vodka and diet coke.” He asks. The man smiles at him, pulling a premade drink out from under the bar. Ryan takes it suspiciously, sipping slowly. It’s diet coke, that’s unmistakeable. Diet coke… and not really anything else.

“Uh? This is just coke?” he says. The bartender smiles, and Ryan reads his name tag. _Aaron_.

“Don’t worry buddy- my friend told me about your condition. I’ve got you.” He nods over to Chris, who gives the pair an exaggerated thumbs up. Ryan groans, and leaves the drink alone by the bar, wandering off out of the ballroom and into the hallways of the hotel.

It’s the worker’s hallway, an abandoned tray of green cocktails sit abandoned on a server’s trolley. Ryan picks one up and sips at the bitter liqueur. It isn’t nice, but it’ll have to do.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be drinking.”

Ryan turns, cherry half chewed between his teeth. Burnie Burns gives him a cold stare, one hand tucked menacingly in his pocket. Ryan rolls his eyes.

“It’s all a part of my plan.” He mutters dismissively.

“What part of your plan included Appletinis?” Burnie asks. Ryan groans, sitting slouched in a chair. He abandons the half swallowed drink on the tray he found it, and Burnie folds his arms across his chest. “What?” Ryan snaps.

“I don’t trust you.” Burnie says. “You know that, Ryan. Just putting that out there, but Mr Heyman seems to, and I’ll stick with him. Do your fucking job, and then get the fuck out of here.”

* * *

 

“I am a disgruntled engineer!” he yells sloppily in Joel Heyman’s face. Maybe the half of the appletini swirling in his gut had given him a slight buzz. Maybe it hadn’t. Maybe he actually wants to punch Joel Heyman in the face and does so, forcefully. Maybe security have the right to drag him out and dump him in the hotel lobby whilst Joel Heyman clutches his bloody nose and Ray fawns over him like a startled gazelle.

“Thank you.” Ryan mutters with a cough as his body is dropped on the ground. “I’ll be going back to my room now.” One last security guard turns and walks back as Ryan struggles to climb back to his feet, and for a moment, he wonders if he’s about to get punched. It’s been a long time since he’s been punched in the face. Too long to bounce back quick enough.

“Mr Hullum would like to meet with you tomorrow.” The security guard says, tossing a white business card at Ryan before slinking away. Ryan catches the card in mid-air, always co-ordinated and smirks to himself. It may have gone a little awry, a little off script… but the fundamentals worked out. Not even Burnie can deny that.


	5. Deals on Deals on Deals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan is easily distracted by Ray whilst trying to work a deal with Matt Hullum, Joel Heyman's biggest rival. Although at first he seems hostile, Ray appears to soften under an archway in the streets of Rome.

Chapter Five

 

 

 

Mr Matt Hullum, at first- seems nothing like a motocross driver. He sits on a balcony on the upper deck of the pool area sipping a cocktail in a Hawaiian shirt and awful sunglasses. He looks like a _dad_ in every right- more so than Ryan does when he isn’t working. He’s nice, oddly enough. For a tenth of a second, Ryan almost feels bad for scamming him.

“-So yeah, I think it’s about time Mr Heyman got what was coming to him, to be honest.” Hullum muses, one hand in the pocket of his khaki shorts as he approaches the railing of the balcony, leaning against it. He offers Ryan a drink for the third time and after refusing for the third time, he joins Hullum at the edge of the balcony.

His eyes wonder across the pool area. Women sunbathing, people buying drinks, swimming, laughing, splashing. With a sour expression, Matt Hullum points down to Joel Heyman, standing against the bar in obnoxious red shorts and mirrored aviators with a bottle of beer and a charismatic smile.

“What an asshole.” Ryan mutters. Matt laughs in agreeance, toasting his cocktail at nothing more than Ryan’s empty hand. “I’ll say.” He laughs. Ryan’s eyes wonder back across to the gaggle of busty women and young guys surrounding Joel and the few friends he sits with, grinning and flirting. Ray catches his attention immediately, bare chest as smooth as a baby’s bottom and tight fitting blue swim trunks. When Ryan knew him, Ray wouldn’t touch the water with a ten-foot pole and had sparse bursts of thick black hair sporadically littering his narrow chest.

“What the fuck’re you looking at?”

Ryan isn’t even sure himself. He shrugs dismissively, turning back to Matt Hullum, pretending to listen to his anecdote about a famous rider getting their skull bashed in by the competition. Whether that’s his plan for Heyman or not, Ryan doesn’t know nor care. Only one thing is important to him here.

“I want three million euros.”

Matt pauses. “You say your shit’s legit?” he asks. Ryan nods.

“And I can prove it. Just let me down with one of your bikes, the numbers speak for themselves.” He promises. Ryan’s always been good at promising the impossible, and it works-  Matt’s face breaks out into a grin.

“Dude, Christmas came fucking early then. Three million- you got it!” he laughs jovially, slapping Ryan on the back. Ryan doesn’t react, eyes drawn once again to Ray- sipping from some kind of fruit blend with practically literal _heart eyes_ shining in the direction of Joel Heyman. His fingers trail up the racers arm, and it reminds Ryan what Ray’s fingers felt like dancing across his chest when he was sleepy and distracted.

“Seriously- what the fuck are you looking at?” Matt laughs, trying to follow Ryan’s gaze as the con-man’s cheeks darken. “Hey,” he snaps his fingers at one of his ominous ‘people’ who lurk behind them. “Wilson, binoculars.”

A pair of binoculars are produced seemingly from nowhere, and places in Matt Hullum’s grabby hands. He draws them to his eyes, scanning the pool bar. “Oh, lemme guess- short girl- blonde hair? Pink bikini?”

“Nope.” Ryan shakes his head. “Not really my type.”

Hullum smirks, and Ryan instantly feels uneasy. “ _Oh_ , you’re more interested in the skinny looking Spanish dude.”

“He’s Puerto Rican.” Ryan mumbles under his breath. Hullum is too busy staring at Ray through his enhanced lens with a dirty smirk. Ryan’s fists clench, but he keeps control, as always.

“Very nice.” Hullum comments. “Lovely race whore.”

Bad taste envelopes in Ryan’s mouth. “He’s not a race whore.” He says before thinking. How could he speak without thinking? Like this business hasn’t been his life for so long. He’s standing there on the balcony like a damn amateur, letting the enemy know that he’s got a thing for Heyman’s claimed property.

“Of course he is,” Matt laughs, setting the binoculars down on the table where his drink rests. “They all are- buzzing round Heyman like flies, the lucky asshole-”

“-Can we get back to business please?”

“I mean, he’s a little small for my tastes, but one man’s trash and all that-”

“Do you want the damn program or not.” Ryan snaps. He’s gripping the banister of the balcony so firmly; he can feel the metal heating up beneath his palms. After a cooling breath and suspicious glance from Hullum, he steps back. “Three million. I’ll show you the proof soon. I’ll be in touch.” He manages to eke out, before withdrawing himself from the situation completely, barging out of Hullum’s room and back down to the lobby.

 

* * *

 

 

“Hey,” a voice says from behind, startling Ray. “Maybe you should cover up. Wouldn’t want you getting sunburn.”

Ray blushes as a faint sense of dread fills his body. He knows Ryan’s voice anywhere- and he’d seen him looking before, sitting up on the balcony with Matt Hullum. The pair of them, staring him down like douchebags.

He only enjoyed it a tiny bit.

“I’ve got sunscreen.”

“Yeah, but there’s American dirt bikers around here.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Ray turns, bored eye roll perfected with practice. Ryan almost looks taken aback. “Just saying, Ray,” he says after a startled pause. “They kick those guys out of bars for a reason.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Ray notices Joel. Joel hasn’t seen him yet, thank God- so he slowly eases off to the side of the pool area. The less he’s seen with Ryan the better. Nobody can find out about his past- and especially not Joel. Her can’t afford the compromise of his position.

“All right- thanks.” Ray shrugs, folding his arms across his chest impatiently. The more he looks like he doesn’t want to be there, the quicker he gains the upper hand and the quicker he can get the hell out of there. Gaining the upper hand over Ryan Haywood however, isn’t the simplest of jobs.

Ryan can sense Ray’s unease instantly. The constant glances over to Joel’s dominion by the bar, the defensive stance, eyes unable to focus on one spot for once, let alone back onto Ryan’s face. “What?” he asks.

“You don’t know me, remember?”

“Sure I don’t. We’re just two people meeting for the first time, after all.” Ryan plays with him honestly, because he’s not sure where else he can go with it. He needs to keep Ray focused on him for as long as possible, because letting him go is just a downfall he can’t afford.

“What was all that last night?” Ray switches the conversation in a way he admires. It’s an art form that took him a few years to perfect, but Ray’s obviously been practicing a _lot_. “Is that my fault?” Ray asks. Ryan rolls his eyes.

“Please,” he scoffs. “Obviously not. That was business- all staged.”

“Joel seemed pretty taken off guard.”

“He’s a good actor.”

Ray huffs, eyes rolling and rolling far back into his skull. “Whatever Ryan- are you trying to fuck over Joel? Is that what all this is? Jealousy, or whatever?”

“No!” Ryan exclaims. “He fucking came to _me_. I’m working a job _for_ him...” Ray’s eyes soften slightly, but they can’t focus on him for very long. “-But,” he adds. “I would not trust him if I were you.”

Ray actually laughs at that- at loud, rude and very much in his face. Ryan hides the pout he feels blossoming over his lips as Ray sarcastically quips, “What- but we should trust you?”

“Ray, look-”

“No,” Ray laughs. “You’re fucking hilarious. Seriously. You ever thought about stand-up?”

“Ray. Come on, me and you- let’s talk this out.” He offers. “Dinner, something?” slowly, daringly so, his hand reaches down and settles on the bone of Ray’s hip. Ray stares at him like he’s grown a third eye.

“Ryan-” his eyes are absent again, glancing back over to a very oblivious Joel Heyman, standing by the bar.

“ _Ray_.” Ryan mimics his tone, thumb beginning to rub small circles around the tip of Ray’s hipbone. Ray’s hand reaches down, covering his briefly before he shoves him off, taking a step backwards.

“If Joel see’s us together, he’ll flip shit- alright? He’s the jealous type.” Ray whispers. “So stay away from me.” He turns before Ryan has the chance to form a reply, walking a few steps back towards the bar. However, at the last minute, he turns around with smirk.

“Oh, and Ry-” he calls. Ryan looks up.

Ray pulls his wallet out from seemingly nowhere, dangling it between his nimble fingers. “You’re still such an easy fucking target.” He tosses the wallet back over with a laugh, before turning his back completely. Ryan can’t see his face, but the grin is hardly hidden in his body language as he skips up to Joel, wet kiss planted on the driver’s cheek. Ryan’s stomach turns.

 

* * *

 

 

“Hey. You should watch your back.” Ryan calls smugly, standing in the archway of a decayed building, long forgotten and now used as a walkway at best in the ancient streets of Rome. Ray doesn’t even look at him before sighing, eventually turning with an expression that surprises him.

He’s expecting bored, unremarkable, tired with a sprinkling of annoyed. Ray is known for being a pretty stubborn asshole at times, very set in his ways and hard to persuade. Ryan has had lengthy arguments with him over the true morale of the movie _Space Jam._

Ray’s expression surprises him. If he could put it into words, he’d used the term broken- big brown eyes wide and damp, lip quivering slightly as he attempts to speak, breath instead hitching as he sniffs. Ryan’s stomach falls into his gut and he steps forwards, taking Ray’s hands between his.

“Ray- what is it, I-”

“I just can’t do this anymore.” Ray shakes his head as a few stray tears escape and leak down his face as he clutches at Ryan’s hands tightly. “It’s… seeing you after all this time I- I wondered if we could…”

“Anything Ray, seriously. Anything you want, I’ll do it.”

“I just want to get away from here-” Ray sobs, propelling himself into Ryan’s arms for a tight hug. Then, he steps back, one of Ryan’s hands lifting to wipe the wet tears from his eyes.

“We could go- Ray, we could run away together you and me and-”

“-He’ll _find_ me.”

Ryan’s teeth grit together. “I’ll protect you.” He promises, forehead resting firmly against Ray’s.

Ray’s hands skip out of the grip and he reaches up to grab hold on Ryan’s face, tiptoeing up so their lips are barely a few centimetres apart. It all feels too familiar, too much of a pained memory that runs in his head every time he lays to sleep. He’s been thinking of this moment, not for two years but for long enough to make it hurt as if it had been so.

“I’ve just… I’ve learned so much since you last saw me.” Ray whispers, breath hot against Ryan’s lips. His eyes search Ryan’s for the answer to a question Ryan can’t quite figure out, and when he finds it, a small smile spread across his lips.

“I learned… how to play men, most of all.” Ray mumbles. “Just like I’m playing you, right now.”

Ryan’s body stiffens as Ray’s slips from his grasp and shakes into the form of a giggle beneath him. Ryan frowns, “I-”

“Run-away together, really? Keep me safe.” Ray laughs unkindly, wiping his face dry. Ryan’s concerned expression falls and he rolls his eyes, ignoring the hurt tugging in his torso. He folds his arms defensively across his chest.

“Seriously Ryan?” Ray chuckles. “I thought you were fucking better than that.”

“Ray, I-” Sorry dies on his lips as Ray’s bored expression takes over and the smirk dropped from his lips. “Goodbye, Ryan.” He says “I’ve got Joel’s credit card and some shopping to do. Stop following me. I’m serious this time.”

It sounds like a warning. It sounds like a threat.

Ryan’s new mission is to find a loophole through it.

 


	6. Team Lads Reunite!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Coincidentally' Ray gets a visit from two old faces who give him some advice.

Chapter Six

 

 

 

_To: Ray_

_Can we meet?_

_R x_

_-_

_From: Ray_

_How did you even get this number?? Don’t fucking text me._

Ray doesn’t actually block his number, but the message is clear enough. For now, the kid doesn’t want to know. However, he could easily put a little more distance between them that he hasn’t- he could’ve told Heyman a few easy white lies by now to get the driver to chase Ryan off, but he hasn’t.

He still cares. He _has_ to still care.

So Ryan pulls out the stops. On a job, it feels like petty cash isn’t real. Money is money- and if you’re getting seven figures by the end of it, you can spare a few grand on business class plane tickets out to Italy for a one Michael Jones and his companion Gavin Free.

The two are annoying asshole kids who he has a magnitude of love and respect for. Most importantly of all, they’re the asshole kids who clicked well with the asshole kid he’s chasing. At the airport, Gavin’s suddenly shaved his hair off and Michael’s lost a couple pounds of puppy fat and has the telling pink on his cheeks of sunburn. Wherever their last job was, it must’ve been somewhere hot.

“You both look ridiculous.” He says fondly as Gavin rattles on with his long winded explanation as to how they ended up wearing matching T-shirts. In Ryan’s opinion, the two of them have far too many matching shirts to warrant a strictly platonic relationship, but neither of them are very telling in that aspect. Michael’s got one of the biggest mouths in the company- but even he isn’t letting on a single thing.

Ryan books them a shared hotel room none the less, and slips Ray’s phone number over without another word. They know by now, with their adoring gazes and wide smiles what he wants from them. It seems pathetic, but they’ll get their cut at the end. He’ll show his gratitude somehow.

He always does.

 

* * *

 

“I can’t believe you guys are here- seriously.” Ray laughs, pushing pasta around his plate as the other two thirds of _Team Lads_ beam across the table at him. “It’s been way too fucking long.”

“It has.” Michael nods. “We all miss you Ray- everyone at Fake AH.”

“Yeah, that shit with Ryan… I-we didn’t know fully what his plan was.” Gavin doesn’t miss Ray’s uncomfortable swallow around the glass of water in his hand. “We didn’t think he was going to leave you like that.”

“Shit happens.” Ray shrugs. “I’m over it.”

“He’s different now anyway,” Gavin shrugs, forking lobster into his mouth. “After he took that two year break… different person, practically.”

“Two year break?” Ray questions. “What two year break?”

Michael and Gavin share a look. “After… you- he was different, like Gav said.” Michael shrugs. “He felt… I don’t know, guilty I guess- whatever. He was being reckless, so Geoff told him to take a break. Two years later here he is in fucking Italy.”

“Wait- this is his _first_ job in _two_ years?”

“Yep.” Gavin nods. “I’m surprised he managed to score something this high profile after disappearing from the game for so long. But then, that’s Ryan, init? Full of surprises.” He eyes Ray in a way that suddenly makes him feel spotlighted in the busy room. Ray breaks the stare first and shrugs his shoulders.

“Whatever.” He shrugs. “I don’t believe it. Nobody changes- not really.” He stabs at another piece of pasta harshly, fork clinking against the china plate. Michael and Gavin do _that thing-_ the thing he fucking hates that they always do. They like to have conversations with only their eyes, silent battles of _do this_ or _say that_ that nobody aside from them can ever quite grasp. Eventually, the debate is settled and Gavin has won- Michael pulling a black square box from his pocket.

“We uh- we bumped into him before we met you today and he… he wanted you to have this.”

Michael slides the box across the table without another word, and slowly, Ray opens it. When the bracelet catches the sunlight, he covers his mouth with his hand. He isn’t sure if he’s holding back a gasp or a sob.

“He went and kept it, after you left.” Gavin says quietly with a smile. “Always lectures _us_ about _sell everything_ and _no evidence_ but… he kept this. He didn’t say anything, but we all knew it was because of you.”

The silver band slips, weighted around Ray’s wrist as perfectly as it had the first time, and his finger strokes across the light engraved pattern. Ray doesn’t cry- of course, but he’s damn near close to doing so. How one tiny artefact can make him feel so many giant feelings is a juxtaposition he’s not quite yet willing to quarrel with.

“He’s changed.” Michael repeats. “You changed him, Ray.”

“Have dinner with him.” Gavin says, sliding Ray’s own phone across the table to him- text chat already opened on Ryan’s name. Ray doesn’t even have the time to marvel over the Brit’s quick fingers, because he’s sure as hell he tucked his phone into his front pocket less than an hour ago.

Michael eyes him curiously, and Gavin’s gaze lingers at the unwritten text message. They both hang over the table like a climber on a cliff, silently anticipating Ray’s tumble into the abyss that is in it’s entirety Ryan Haywood.

Ray picks up the phone.

 

* * *

 

 

Ryan agrees- as if he’d ever say no to an offer from Ray.

To credit him, he pulls out all the stops. Dinner in a luxury outdoor restaurant- expensive enough to be impressive, open and busy enough for him not to feel trapped. Ryan dresses up the way he did the first night they met, grey suit, open shirt, expensive watch. The minute he clocks it, Ray’s fingers itch to steal, but he holds himself back.

“Michael and Gavin said you’d changed.” Ray comments, sipping from a glass of lemonade. “You look the same to me.”

“Trust me.” Ryan smirks. “It’s internal.”

“Internal?” Ray hums. “You’re not doing a cleanse, are you?”

“I’m not Geoff.” Ryan scoffs. The waitress brings over their food with a smile and a wink in Ryan’s direction, but he ignores her in favour of bearing his eyes straight into Ray’s god-damn-soul until he squirms on his seat and looks down at his food.

“I believe them.” Ray avoids continuing on the joke. If he wanted to joke, he would’ve done it over text where he didn’t have to look Ryan in the eyes. “Michael and Gavin. I believe them when they say you’ve changed.”

The bracelet burns around his wrist. Ryan’s eyes have been drawn to it since the moment he arrived. “Good.” He nods. “Because they’re not lying. _I’m_ not lying.”

Slowly, he reaches across the table and takes Ray’s hand in his and for some strange, celestial reason- Ray actually lets him.

“What is it, Ryan?” Ray asks with a sigh. “What is it you want from me?”

“Ray.” Ryan breathes his name like a prayer. “I just… I am very good, at my job. I’m the best in the business. I once convinced a guy that I was a Russian prince- and Russia don’t even have a monarchy!”

“Get to the point.”

Ryan’s grip on his hand tightens. “Right, okay. Point is, I’m really good at convincing people of things that aren’t true. But I’ve been out of the game for two years- and I thought I was happy Ray, I really did but… I started talking to my dad again and I asked him- was he ever… you know, _happy_ being in the life? And he said no. And the penny just dropped.” Ryan clicked his fingers, and Ray suddenly realised how closely they were leaning towards each other. His favourite food, lasagne, left untouched between them. Ryan had gotten what he wanted within seconds. Ryan had completely captured his undivided attention.

He really _was_ that good.

“I’m not happy, Ray. I’m not happy with the way I used to be and if I’m going to continue to be in this life I have to be honest with myself. I can convince others but I can’t keep convincing myself that I’m doing the right thing. And I can’t convince myself that along the way on that stupid job… even though I wasn’t supposed to- I can’t say that I never fell in love with you.”

Someone around them knocks a drink over their table, and it clatters to the ground with a wet smash. Ray doesn’t turn to look, and Ryan’s eyes only flit over for a single second. In that moment, Ray knows the truth.

Ryan loved him- of course Ryan fucking loved him. How could he ever have doubted it? Ryan loved him… and he loved Ryan too.

And that’s the problem.

“I can’t do this.” Ray scrapes his chair backwards against the ground. He unclips the bracelet and sets it on the table beside his untouched meal. “I’m sorry Ryan but- you’re just _too_ unpredictable. I can’t fucking _trust_ you, I can’t even tell when you’re lying. You’re just too god-damn reckless.”

“But Ray- I _love_ you!”

“You want too much!” Ray attempts to shout, but his voice chokes with emotion and it becomes more of a desperate whisper. “You want too much and that scares me.”

“I’m sorry-”

“Back at that football game… even though it was a scam, Ryan- you fucking scared me. I saw your eyes and I saw the way you gambled that cash and it fucking scared me shitless. You say ‘The Mad King’ is just a stupid nickname but I think that it’s true.”

“I’m different.” Ryan picks up the bracelet, holding it out to Ray. “And I promise- I’ll _never_ lie to you again.”

“I’m sorry.” Ray whispers. “I just can’t believe you.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments as usual, appreciated :)
> 
> Question: Do YOU think Ryan has changed the way Michael and Gavin says he has? Do YOU think Ray was right to turn him down?


	7. Crisis Averted?

CH7

 

 

 

With the job pretty much over, Ryan finds himself more than happy with the outcome. A multi-million dollar job, wrapped neatly in the palm of his hands with a bow on top for show. For someone who had been out of the game for two years, he feels more than a little proud that it’d all gone off without a hitch.

Or, without too many hitches at least.

One giant hitch in his plan was (and to some extent still _is_ ) Ray- lingering on his mind as he sauntered into the hotel lobby. He had been set on collecting his cash then and there, his work more than done- but still, something makes him want to linger around.

Something he knows he can’t have.

“Mr Haywood.”

Ryan locks eyes with Burnie Burns and the scowl within him attempts to fight its way out. However, he manages to stave it off, instead nodding in greeting and not saying much else with his hands stuffed in his suit pockets.

“I couldn’t help but notice you had a pair of visitors yesterday.” Burnie says. “Any particular reason?” his brow arches. Ryan rolls his eyes.

“Keeping tabs on me now?”

Burnie’s face is a mask. “I do what I need to.”

“Well you don’t need to stalk me.” Ryan grunts. “It’s none of your god-damn business who I fly in. I’ve done the job I came here to do- the plans have been sold. Where’s Heyman with my payment?”

Burnie turns to glance behind him, and a man in a dark grey suit makes his way over. He passes Burnie a briefcase, gives Ryan a warning glance and then heads off. Burnie smiles to himself, and hands the briefcase over to Ryan.

“Mr Heyman’s a little busy right now.” Burnie says. “Here’s your payment. Now I want you gone- tonight.”

“Very well.” Ryan nods, flashing Burnie his brightest, fakest smile. “Nice doing business with you, Sir.”

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t leave immediately like Burnie really wants him to do. Instead, he hangs around the pool, lingers around the bar and hovers in the lobby for the rest of the day in hope of catching one last glimpse at Ray. What exactly he’ll do if he sees Ray he hasn’t quite worked out yet, but something inside him still whispers that just maybe- he has the slightest chance with Ray again. Now that the job is over and the money has been secured, they could leave together and start over, just the way he knows that deep down- Ray wants to.

Ray isn’t hanging around the pool with the slim women in bikini’s that can usually be found flocking Joel Heyman. Ray isn’t leant against the bar, shamelessly flirting with the stocky bartender who slips him free soft drinks all day. Ray isn’t hanging around the lobby, making conversation with the really attractive bell-boy. Ray is nowhere to be seen on the entire resort, so by the time the warm night air settles in Ryan resigns to his room with a disappointed sigh.

He takes the elevator up fifteen floors and slips five dollars to the concierge as he exits, strolling languidly down towards his room. The hotel is huge, tall and spacious with winding corridors leading around the rooms. His own room is a fair trek, and by the time he’s turning the corner of the hallway he’s already thinking about getting enough sleep to get up and catch a seven o’clock flight.

Ryan freezes when he rounds the corner.

Ray is sat outside his room, knees cuddled to his chest and face buried in his crossed arms. His dark hair is mussed and his glasses sit folded beside him neatly as his shoulders shake silently. Ryan, for once, is completely lost for words and has to simply _look_ for a few seconds, not daring to take a single step further.

At his concerned intake of breath, Ray looks up at him. Tears cling to his eyelashes and threaten to multiply as Ryan looks at him, taking in the detail of the bruising around his left eye and the red sting to his cheek that make his teeth grind together and his fists clench.

“Ryan-” Ray scrambles to his feet as Ryan walks towards him. Ryan reaches out slowly as if to touch Ray’s face, but quickly decides against it and rests his fist against the hotel room door.

“Did _he_ do this?”

Ray swallows thickly, and presses his back against the door. He turns his gaze to the floor when Ryan uncurls his fist and brushes his fingers across the bruising so gently that he barely winces.

“Answer me.” Ryan whispers. “Did he do this to you?”

 Ray sniffs.

“I-It wasn’t… I can’t…” he trails off, eyes desperate to look anywhere but Ryan’s face as the feeling of fingers leaves his face. “Ryan,” he whimpers at the sudden lack of contact. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He finally forces himself to look up and into Ryan’s eyes.

“I’ll kill him.” Ryan says.

“I trust you.” Ray ignores his promise completely. “I can trust you again.”

* * *

 

As the sun burns high in the sky, Ryan rolls onto his back and lets out a quiet groan. Not bothering to close the curtains had obviously been a mistake, because now the sunlight streams in and catches his eyes at all the wrong angles. Ryan holds a hand up to his face to shield himself from the sun, and glances over at the clock on the wall.

He’s definitely missed the seven AM flight. But then, there was a lot to distract him from sleeping.

Ryan stretches again, turning onto his side to stare at Ray who remains asleep beside him. The bruising on the left side of his face sparkles in the stream of sunlight and Ryan reaches forwards to touch it before reason tells him otherwise. His fists clench above Ray’s head and he swears quietly, before relaxing himself and letting his hand settle flat in Ray’s dark hair.

“Stop staring at me.” Ray mumbles. Ryan smiles.

Ray opens his eyes slowly, turning out of Ryan’s embrace and stretching like a pleased cat. Ryan watches the arch of his back with hungry eyes and every inch of his will power is used to hold back from reaching out and tracing the ridges of his spine.

“Did you sleep okay?” he asks.

A pleased smile spreads across Ray’s face as he lays back flat against the mattress and turns his head to look over at Ryan. It’s a familiar look that Ryan’s seen before, and makes his heart clench behind his ribcage.

“Yeah.” Ray grins. “My back _kills_ though.”

Holding the smirk back from his face would be impossible, so he doesn’t even try. Ray knows what he’s like and he knows what he likes to hear- so he doesn’t bother hiding anything at all when he mutters, “Sorry.”

“No you’re not.” Ray smirks right back at him. “Smug asshole.”

Ryan opens his mouth to reply but he’s interrupted by the beeping of a key-card pressed against the door of his suite, the door clicking open as two pairs of footsteps echo in the room. Ray is suddenly more than awake, sitting bolt upright with wide panicked eyes.

“Who is that?” he hisses.

“I have no idea.” Ryan leaps out of the bed, quickly reaching for his discarded pants as Ray picks up his dress shirt, quickly wrapping it around his naked body before bending over the other side of the bed to search for his underwear.

“Haywood?” Burnie Burns voice rings out.

“Just a minute.” Ryan calls back, swearing silently at the side as Ray pales beside him, pulling his boxers up.

“He can’t know I’m here!” he whispers, jumping off the bed and standing frozen like a deep caught in headlights by the open window.

“Don’t you think I know that!” Ryan whispers back. “Hide. I’ll get rid of him.”

Footsteps continuing to echo through the apartment, Ryan buttons up his jeans and rushes out into the main room of the suite. He pauses right before coming around the corner and into view, taking a second to take a breath and try his best to look like he hasn’t just been having sex with his employer’s boyfriend.

 _Just another job_ , echoes in his mind. _Just another job_.

“Didn’t know you had a key-card, sir.” He rounds the corner and greets Burnie with a polished, practiced smile. As expected, Burnie briefly scowls at him in greeting as Ryan’s heart leaps from his chest when his eyes fall on a beaming Joel Heyman, not far behind Burnie.

“Mr Heyman.” He gulps, posture correcting itself on unconscious instinct.

“Please,” Joel grins, oblivious as ever. “After everything you’ve done for me? Joel is fine. I just wanted to come by and say thank you, for everything.” He pushes his way past Burns, shaking Ryan’s hand a little too vigorously, considering the last thing Ryan’s hand touched was his boyfriend’s naked body. “Honestly, thanks to you- I might actually win this title.”

Ryan grins back at him, Burnie’s suspicious eyes darting around the apartment rather than between the two. He leans over slightly to catch a glimpse of Ryan’s unmade bed, and Ryan crosses his fingers behind his back in hope that Ray’s clever enough to have found a decent hiding spot.

“We almost didn’t come up here.” Burns mumbles. “As far as I was aware, you catching a seven AM flight.” He arches a brow at Ryan accusingly, tension and annoyance vibrating off of him. Joel Heyman is fairly clueless about the whole thing, looking between the two with a smile.

“But we caught you just in time!” He finishes Burnie’s sentence with a smile.

“Yes.” Ryan nods. “Luckily enough I decided to stay the night and catch a flight tonight. Beautiful hotel like this,” he gestures vaguely around the room. “I couldn’t resist.”

“Indulge in any of the local talent?” Burnie asks. Ryan swallows.

“Uh- what do you mean?”

“Oh, the food?! Italian food, real Italian stuff- it’s gorgeous.” Joel nods, smiling at Burnie who nods along with him, but every few seconds his dark eyes dart back over to Ryan. “You should have dinner with me! As a thanks!”

“You know, I think Mr Haywood said his flight is leaving tonight-”

“I could push it to tomorrow-”

“-We don’t want to put you to any trouble.” Burnie interrupts him, and something in his voice tells Ryan it’s an extremely final decision. So he doesn’t retort, and instead agrees wholeheartedly with Heyman’s assistant. Anything to get them both out of the suite so he can get back to Ray is fine with him.

To his disappointment, Burnie continues to ramble about the job and the success of it all as he steps further into the room, Ryan quick on his heels as he rounds the corner that approaches the bedroom area. Ryan holds his breath but thankfully, Ray is nowhere to be seen.

“You haven’t made your bed.” Burnie says.

“Just got out of it.” Ryan shrugs. Burnie says nothing, and with a final glance around the apartment, bids Ryan a goodbye and heads away with Joel Heyman not far behind him.

“Thanks for everything, Mr Haywood.” Joel says excitedly. “Really. If anyone asks me about similar services, I’ll be sure to point them in your direction.”

“Of course.” Ryan nods quickly, practically pushing the two out and slamming the door in their faces in the politest way he can. Once he hears their footsteps heading further away, he darts back into the bedroom and glances around the room confusedly for Ray.

“Ray?” He eventually calls.

“Out here!”

Ryan follows the voice and hops up on the dresser in order to lean out of the high window, curtains billowing around behind him. Somehow- by some magical order of events surrounding the kid, Ray is not only out of the window, he is perched on the balcony of the executive suite next door to Ryan’s.

“How?” Ryan shouts. Ray glares at him.

“Keep your voice down!” he mouths, nodding towards the balcony doors of the hotel room he is stood outside of.

“Sorry.” Ryan can’t help but laugh as Ray wraps his arms around himself tightly and rolls his eyes at Ryan’s amusement. “Meet me here, eight o’clock tonight.” Ryan points back at his own room. Ray nods in agreement and says nothing else, silently grabbing the handle of the suite in front of him and creeping in, the faint white of Ryan’s dress shirt disappearing along with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's almost the end! One more chapter left, so please leave a comment with what you thought of this short one/a prediction for the dramatic ending :))))


	8. Curtain Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan waits for Ray. He waits and he waits and he waits.
> 
> The story comes to its dramatic conclusion.

 

CH8

 

If there’s one thing that Ryan knows about deceiving people for a living- it’s that there isn't a job in the world that doesn’t have a second angle. No job should _ever_ be left with only the initial payment from your employer. Absolutely always, there’s another plan or a scheme or an angle to rack up your total past the amount you were originally offered. This extra layer to any job, whether made aware to your employer or not, can always secure a comfortable added bonus.

In the case of Joel Heyman vs Matthew Hullum, Ryan may or may not have made it out with an extra twenty or so million dollars on the side.

He can’t take all the credit- he’s smart, but not ever smart enough to pull something off like that single-handed. Still, his partner in crime is wisely keeping a low profile through to the end. Washing his hands of the whole charade- once he secures his fifty percent cut.

There are nine other motocross drivers in the direct vicinity of the resort competing in Heyman’s race, each representing a different state. They’re all somewhat friendly, all looking to win- and most importantly, they’re all complete fucking idiots.

Or, at least idiotic enough to buy into a miracle. The wondrous performance enhancing theorem from a man they hardly know. Idiotic enough not to suspect, even for a second that they’re being played like a fucking fiddle.

On the flipside, Ryan considers that maybe they’re not that stupid at all. Maybe, he’s just _really_ fucking good at his job. It’s a nice little ego boost- two years out of the game but the shoes still fit, leather worn and moulded to the shape of his step, heel worn down from the dirt and the grime and the lies.

He sells the plans to Hullum- because that’s his job. The second step is more of the same. Ryan sells the plans to Luna, and then, to Flanagan, to Shawcross, to Farmihini and to all the other drivers in the line-up for three million euros a piece, packs up the cash in the trunk of his car and makes his way back up into to the hotel room by seven thirty.

His flight is at nine. Ray is set to arrive at eight. Easy as pie.

 

* * *

 

At eight fifteen, his phone vibrates with a text.

 

- 

**_From: Dad._ **

**_You’re in the red. Get out whist you can._ **

**_-_ **

****

The text makes Ryan groan quietly, swearing under his breath as his eyes flit desperately back to the door. He’s been sitting on the same couch since the clock struck seven-fifty with his suitcase at his heels and his phone in his hand. The text from his dad says enough- he need to leave, and he needs to leave right away because there’s not a whole lot of other things _in the red_ could mean other than _you are fucked_.

He should leave. Really, he should pick up his suitcase and bin his phone and hop in his car and drive to the airport. He should hop on a plane and fly home, alone again.

At eight twenty-four, Ryan finally relents, standing up with a sigh and wheeling his suitcase towards the door. His heart pulls for him to stay seated on the couch, memories of previous promises shattered at his feet and making them bleed as he gathers his things. He made a promise to Ray, that he would take care of him and protect him and give him a new life. Once again, it’s a bunch of empty words that he can’t even try and keep.

The door swings open gently, and Ryan makes his way into the corridor. He closes the hotel suite for the last time, leaves the key sticking in the lock slot. He doesn’t have time for formalities, like signing out in reception. No traces, after all. He grips the key between the sleeves of his shirt wipes the key card down on his trousers- just in case.

“Ryan?”

Ryan turns, eyes wide as they fall on the image of Ray. A blue suitcase standing up to his hip rests on the floor beside him, petite figure wrapped in the same worn purple hoodie Ryan always remembers him in. the bruises on his face still sparkle, and his eyes are rimmed red with tears.

“I wasn’t going to come.” He says, quietly. Ryan holds his breath. “I promised myself I wasn’t going to come.”

Ryan steps forwards. “And I promised you I wouldn’t leave. But I did- I am. Maybe we’re just not very good at promises.”

Ray laughs, despite it all. Breathless and teary and punctuated with a sniff. Ryan walks down to the end of the corridor briskly and Ray is there waiting for him, throwing himself into Ryan’s warm embrace for another long awaited promise. Ryan takes Ray’s soft hand in between his, and raises it to his lips briefly.

“No more promises.” He says. “No more chances to screw things up. Just you and me. Back where we belong.”

* * *

 

If ten minutes ago they were in the red, now, they’re in the fucking _scarlet_. Ryan drags Ray by the hand at speed into the carpark under the hotel, bundling him into passenger seat of the rented _Mercedes_ and tossing their suitcases carelessly in the backseat. He doesn’t give Ray a chance to slip his seatbelt on before the engine is roaring and the car is flying up the ramp, skidding round the sharp turn and out on the roads.

Ray winds the windows down and laughs as the wind blows in his hair. When Ryan rests his hand on the stick shift, Ray reaches between them and wraps their hands together.

“This is crazy.” He laughs. “Are we doing this, for real? Like seriously- is this a fucking _dream_.”

“It’s real.” Ryan twists their hands to pinch Ray sharply, and laughing harshly as he lets out a yelp. “Real as real.”

“You’re the worst.” Ray grins. “We’re so perfect for one another.”

Then, Ryan takes his eyes off the road and turns to watch Ray. It’s the happiest Ray’s ever seen Ryan- period, and he becomes instantaneously addicted to the way his usually cool blue eyes light up and roar like a gas fire and his grin is manic and juvenile.

“Eyes on the road, asshole.”

Ryan smirks, but he doesn’t look away from Ray. “Hey.” He says, loudly over the sound of the wind whipping through the open windows and the radio, which Ray had cranked up to blasting. “I lo-”

* * *

 

Ray knows Blaine Gibson. He’s seen the guy around a bunch, long enough to know who he is and what exactly it is that he does for a living. His business card says bodyguard, but Ray knows that really, that isn’t quite the case. For some people- or people like Blaine at least- _bodyguard_ is just a really fancy was of saying _thug-for-hire_.

His job seems to be for no other reason than his tremendous size and muscle definition. Blaine is a pretty athletic guy, and Ray had taken plenty of shallow pleasure watching him run laps around the courtyards of the resort every morning from his bedroom window. Aside from career choice, Blaine was actually a pretty nice guy.

They’ve spoken at once maybe once or twice, Blaine being Joel’s personal thug and occasional plaything. It’s not really much of a friendship at all- Blaine is just the guy who watches him behind mirrored aviators when he thinks he’s being sneaky and Blaine is the guy who _takes out the trash,_ as Burns would put it.

Blaine is currently, the guy who knows how to hog-tie a one hundred and twenty pound dude to a metal chair in Joel’s shiny garage. Ropes wrap around his wrists, holding them backwards behind his chair in a mirror image of Ryan, who sits tied beside him. And Ray has to give it to the kid (he can say that. Blaine is _almost_ a year younger than him) he’s pretty damn good.

“Did you really think…” Joel’s voice echoes through the white tiled garage as Blaine puts the finishing touches on his work and shoots Ray a somewhat sympathetic glance. For a second, looking around at the spotlighted room, Ray wonders if it’ll be his blood splattered against the bright white tiles first or Ryan’s.

Speaking of Ryan, he was currently seeing the full extent of Joel’s acting experience. Ray’d spent enough time with the guy to know his tells- and on the inside, Joel was shaking like a leaf. It was all in the hands- erratic and overly expressive.

“-Like, did you really not think that I would have someone following you?!” Joel yells, gesturing to Blaine, who’s retreated to the back wall to rest ice against his neck. That’s what you get from hurtling into a _Mercedes Benz_ as seventy-five miles an hour. Whiplash.

“Someone to keep watch over Hullum and the other racers in the competition?!” Joel continues. Ray ignores most of his monologue, instead choosing to watch Ryan throughout the spectacle. Currently, he’s sitting slumped in his chair with his eyes fixed on the leather of his shoes in a pretty disgruntled fashion.

“And _then-_ ” Joel is as dramatic as ever- being someone who takes a bachelor’s degree in stage theatre fairly seriously for some unbeknownst reason. “Imagine when… to my surprise I am told that someone who _I_ hired to sell fake plans to _one_ particular racer has gone behind _my back_ and sold the same plans he sold to Hullum, to every fucker else in a ten-mile radius?!” he exclaims, snapping his fingers rudely in front of Ryan’s face to hold his attention. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?” he asks.

Ray raises his eyebrows. Ryan hadn’t quite filled him in on that particular part of the plan yet.

“I did the job, didn’t I?” Ryan’s voice is as effective as a mask, monotonous and flat and bouncing off the garage walls. “I sold the plans to Hullum like you asked. The rest was… extra credit. It had nothing to do with you.” He shrugs, as best as he can whilst being restrained by reinforced rope.

“You know what?” Joel huffs. “That would all be good and well- it really would, Ryan.” He takes a few steps backwards, and angrily, his fingers twitch. “If only I _didn’t_ have my guy check over what exact program you were running as soon as I was made aware of your little _scheme_. I’m sure you can imagine how fucking _ridiculous_ I felt when I was informed that what you sold to the other drivers and what you sold to Hullum _wasn’t_ , a fake wired bug to mess with the bike systems. Was it- Ryan?”

Ryan remains completely silent, and looking between them both, Ray frowns. His mind races at trying to make sense of whatever it is that Joel is getting at during the pregnant pause. The details of Joel’s business with Ryan had been sketchy from the beginning, and honestly, he hadn’t cared much to find out. Joel’s personal lap dog Burnie stands behind him with a dark glare on Ryan like he’s got some kind of lethal vendetta against him. Ray quickly theorises that Burnie knows exactly what Joel is getting at- and he certainly isn’t very happy about it either. In fact, he looks even _more_ pissed off.

Ray would like nothing more than to direct some particularly well aimed spit straight into Burnie’s slanted eye, but remembers quite quickly that one of the first things Blaine did when he dragged them in here was duct tape his mouth shut so he couldn’t ‘make too much of a fuss’.

“Anything?” Joel asks, folding his arms tightly over his chest, “Not a word, huh? Well, I’ll do the grand reveal then, I suppose. I was always good at a climax-” Ray snorts, but both parties ignore him. “It wasn’t a bug… was it Ryan?” Joel sighs. “It wasn’t… _fake_ , not like you said. It was the real thing- wasn’t it?” his fists clench under his armpits, and soon, Ray sees a fire light inside Joel’s irises that he’s never seen before. “It was the _real fucking thing_!” he yells.

Ray can only watch in silence, wide eyes as Ryan actually tenses slightly. He knows that that can only mean that it’s nothing but the truth- Ryan had been double crossing Joel the whole time. It was an interesting, borderline ingenious plan if he’d been able to get away with it. Still the whole thing seems like an awful lot of fuss, which isn’t usually Ryan’s style. He can’t have been working alone.

“The real EXR formula that you _stole_ from my servers!” Joel roars. “You stole it right from me! You stole it from me and made twenty-seven million euros selling it to every single other asshole in the race! Do you have any idea what that does to _me?_ To my reputation?!”

After a beat of silence, Ryan smirks. “I’m sorry Mr Heyman, but I’m afraid that’s sort of a risk you take when you hire a con artist.”

“You piece of shit.” Joel practically bristles with rage, lips spread thin and dry with his fists clenching so tightly they’re impossibly white. For a second, he really looks like he wants to do Ryan something severe, but Ray knows Joel really couldn’t harm a fly. He’s twitchy and neurotic as fuck- sure, but he isn’t a brute. Not nearly so. Instead of punching Ryan square in the face, Joel turns away from them and decides to briefly takes his rage out on the back bumper of Ryan’s dented car, swearing loudly.  “How’d you do it?” he asks suddenly, turning around again to watch Ryan with a dark glare. “How the fuck did you get into my server?” he pauses, takes a breath and then, his eyes settle on Ray.

 _Shit_. Ray thinks. _Don’t say what I think you’re about to say._

“And what did that little _fuck_ have to do with it?” he points accusingly. Ryan’s eyes look over to Ray’s briefly, quickly settling back onto Joel in an unpredictably calm and collected fashion.

Ryan looks up to Joel, and his face only reads as _tired_. “He had _nothing_ to do with it.” He says, matter-of-factly Joel scoffs indignantly- “Like I’d believe that.”

“He had nothing to do with it,” Ryan repeats. His voice is steady and gone is the joyous gas blue of his eyes. They’re back to business mode, cool and burning into Joel Heyman like a blowtorch. To credit him, Joel actually shifts slightly where he stands. Ray can’t offer much to the conversation tied to a chair and taped at the mouth, but he sends as many gentle glances over to Ryan as he can and appreciates the sentiment nonetheless.

“Tell me-”

“-Nothing.” Ryan cuts him off quickly, shaking his head with his eyes gently closed. This frustrates Joel, clearly, and the agitation radiates off him in heat. He frowns at Ryan’s nonchalance, and out of nowhere, points at Ray with a click of his fingers. That’s a cue for something- Ray just isn’t sure what.

Or- he isn’t until he feels the smothering grip of Blaine Gibson’s large fingers pinching over the tip of his nose, holding his nasal passage shut. He panics at first, trying desperately to suck in breath through his mouth but the duct tape is fucking _tightly_ stuck and any attempt at an airflow is efficiently blocked. After the initial panic, he tries to struggle out of the grip- but Blaine’s biceps are probably the size of his fucking face, so he isn’t wriggling free anytime soon.

In a last ditch attempt as saving his own life as his vision swims, Ray looks over to Ryan. The conman is pensive, brow furrowed as he watches the life very slowly drain away from Ray, until, as his eyes fall closed he snaps and tugs at his bonds, trying to lean forwards to protect him.

“Leave him alone!” Ryan finally yells.

“Tell me!” Joel repeats.

One last time, Ryan’s panicked gaze flits between Joel and Ray. Even through the oncoming unconsciousness, Ray can figure Ryan out pretty easily. He’s trying, bless him, to figure out an escape or an easy way out. Maybe that’s where they always went wrong, he and Ryan. They always wanted things to be easy.

“Fine!” Ryan relents, chest heaving. “I’ll tell you. Let him go!”

Joel nods at Blaine who steps backwards from Ray completely just as the darkness was beginning to fade in. his oxygen starved brain keens at the sudden clear flow of air flowing through his nose and down his throat, into his lungs. The dingy motor-oil scented of the garage feels like the purest breeze he’s ever breathed.

“Explain.”

Ryan bites his lip, one final glance to Ray to check if he’s okay. It’s endearing, sure- but the whole affair has quickly drifted from amusing to scary and Ray’s not sure if he’s okay with almost losing his life at the hands of an oversized bodyguard on the circumstances of Ryan’s carelessness.

“Explain!” Joel yells again. Ryan huffs.

“I have a couple of guys who can hack- and they’re good. I flew them in- Mr Burns saw that I had flown someone in- that’s who.” He nods to Burnie, who looks at Joel for a few seconds before silently nodding in arrogance. “They cracked your encryption.” Ryan explains. “Found a backdoor and went right into your server. Secured your usernames and passwords.”

“Bullshit!” Fingertips pinch closed Ray’s airway suddenly again, but this time they’re a lot less dense and foreboding. It’s _Joel_ , surprisingly, in a fit of anger and Ray can only assume frustration- marching over to grab Ray’s face and use his life as a bargaining tool in exchange for Ryan’s sordid truths.

Joel isn’t as strong as Blaine by a mile, so when Ray wriggles Joel’s sweaty hands slip occasionally, allowing him through a slip or two. He’s not dying- not this time, but he’s starting to feel lightheaded again and the ears that leak from the corners of his eyes are nothing if not involuntary.

“It’s the truth!” Ryan yells. “I swear!”

Joel lets go then, and Ray’s chest heaves. For a few blissful seconds, he wonders if Joel is actually dim enough to believe a word Ryan says. Ray himself is even starting to feel his starved brain agreeing with Ryan’s story- and he _knows_ from experience that Ryan lies for a living. Gavin is plausible- but as far as he’s concerned Michael couldn’t hack a Facebook account. However, they’re both in the Fake AH Crew still (or at least, as far as he knows they still are) so nothing can really surprise him. Besides- Joel doesn’t know that little titbit of information anyway.

It’s a nice feeling- being oxygenated, but it doesn’t last long because Joel snaps his fingers again and Blaine’s hand wraps over his face. It’s the third time in ten minutes he’s been slowly suffocated, but somehow he isn’t even close to getting used to it. It fucking _hurts,_ and he’s sure if he lives through the night he’ll have the darkest bruise on the tip of his nose to match the one blooming around his eye and his cheek.

Fighting the will to slip into a sleep that will surely be his last, Ray watches as intently as he can as Joel rummages through the back pocket of his jeans and pulls out a small black flash drive.

“See this!” He waves it past Ray’s face, and then onto Ryan’s. Not that the latter is paying much attention to Joel’s show, concerned gaze more fixed on the drooping of Ray’s eyes. However, Joel ignores it. “This device monitors my encryption and generates a new password every fifteen minutes. It’s _unhackable_.” He laughs cruelly as Ray continues to fight- but his struggle begins to weaken as he feels the oxygen level in his brain physically lower. “So,” he crouches down to look up at Ryan, tensed against his bonds in the cool metal chair. “I’m gonna ask you again, Ryan Haywood. Tell me how you did it.”

“Who cares?” Ryan asks desperately, struggling against his restraints as Ray’s final weak cries fight their way through the duct tape. The strength to struggle is long gone and for the first time, through the darkness that clouds his vision- he starts to see light. That certainly can’t be good.

“It’s done, it’s too late to change anything!” Ryan yells, frantic.

“I want to know!” Joel yells back, standing up again to loom over Ryan with a dark expression and a booming voice. Ryan’s lip crumples and he looks away from Joel as Ray’s body begins to turn limp, sucking in a breath.

“Okay, okay!” he relents, again. “Just… let him go!”

Before waiting for a response from Joel, Blaine steps completely away from Ray. His hands are wiped, guilty on his jeans and he folds his arms across his taut chest, watching concernedly as Ray hacks and coughs behind his duct tape and sucks in rapid deep breaths through his nose again.

Joel barely looks over for more than a second to check if Ray is still alive. “Tell me.” He repeats, and his voice gives it all away to Ryan. He pretends, of course not to care, but the softness in his tone admits Ray’s choking tells Ryan all he needs to know.

Despite _him_ and despite it all. Joel cares about Ray.

Ray, who’s chest heaves as he turns his head to watch Ryan, hot tears spilling from his eyes and down his cheeks. Ray- who can make any fool fall in love.

Ryan knows exactly what he has to do.

“Ray.” Ryan sighs his name so softly, that Ray feels his chest tighten again for reasons other than oxygen deprivation. And it’s because he’s seen the exactly look on Ryan’s face before and he’s heard Ryan’s voice hitch just the same, those few years ago. Memories of crying in the backseat of an expensive car on the way back from the worst (and last) football game of his life race through his mind. Ryan breathes, “I’m-”

“-Save it.” Joel interrupts. The driver drags a metal chair over, swinging it in front of Ryan and sitting down, cop style in front of him with his chin rested on his folded arms. He doesn’t look so angry anymore. If anything- he looks tired. “Tell me the truth.” He says. His voice is quiet but his eyes are dark and threatening as he glances from Ryan, to Blaine, and back again. “-or I won’t have my buddy Blaine let go next time.”

Ray watches as Ryan swallows thickly. He looks over, his gaze so unnaturally gentle as if it really is the last time they’ll ever see each other again. Ray crosses his fingers that Ryan’s got another one of his clever tricks up his sleeve, but the defeated sigh the con-man lets out and the way his eyes fade and turn pale let him know that truly, the gig is up.

“I was him.” Ryan says quietly, looking away from Ray completely to focused on Joel. However, the subject of his accusation is clear enough, and Joel watches Ray with a squinted glare. Ray screams from behind his duct tape, but his voice can’t quite break through. “It was all him.” Ryan continues, and Ray feels his feet turn numb. Ryan tilts his head up, sparing Ray one last adoring glance. “-And he didn’t even know it.”

Once Ryan speaks, Ray feels his entire world come crashing down all at once. He doesn’t even need to hear the rest of the story to know exactly what part comes next. Once again- he’d let himself be an idiot. He’d let himself fall prey to the fucking _enigma_ of Ryan Haywood, and once again- he’d lost.

“Your encryption was good- it was better than I expected. I thought I could break it but I couldn’t. And then I saw Ray at your party.”

Screaming and crying for Ryan beneath the duct tape is futile, but Ray attempts it anyway, tugging at the bonds that hold him to the chair. Joel glances at him, frustrated and nods for Blaine to move over and wrap his large hands around his mouth to muffle him further.

“My job is hard, Mr Heyman.” Ryan smirks, bitterly. “Getting people to trust you enough to the extent where they are willing to give over confidential information is both a skill and an art. But… in my line of work, we’ve discovered a shortcut.” Joel leans in slightly, and the furrow of his brow and the depth of his frown tells Ryan silently that he’s completely captivated. “…Love.” Ray wants to sob when Ryan glances over to him, so careless and void of sentimentality, before turning back to his new student- Joel. “...romance- It’s easy. And if there’s already an established connection,” he cocks his head sideways, gesturing again to Ray with an unbothered expression. “-it’s even easier.”

The tears that roll down Ray’s face and creep onto Blaine’s fingers are hot and salty and anything but involuntary. He doesn’t bother screaming for Ryan again. The conman wouldn’t bother looking anyway.

“No matter how crumpled a lover’s trust is,” Ryan continues, spinning the silk of his story like a modern day Rumpelstiltskin. “It can always be regained. You start by making yourself known. I saw Ray at your party, so I got him on his own. I let him think I was happy he moved on, but then, I made sure I was always in his periphery. Everything I did at that party, I made sure he had to see it. Because once you see your ex having a good time, all you can think about is what could’ve been, right? Then, you bring the touch of familiarity. A friendly, face, someone or something that connects you both. Someone he still trusted-”

Michael and Gavin flash in Ray’s mind.

 

-

_“He’s changed.” Michael repeats. “You changed him, Ray.”_

_“Have dinner with him.” Gavin says, sliding Ray’s own phone across the table to him- text chat already opened on Ryan’s name._

_-_

 

“-You let them think you’ve changed, that _they_ were able to change you- that you learned from them, not the other way around. You give them a gift, something that holds a lot of weight in your relationship. Something familiar. When I found him at my doorstep at his most vulnerable state, I knew I had him. He was my little blind mouse, _again_.”

At this, Ryan spares him another cold and uncaring glance. Joel follows his gaze, but looks away sharply at Ray’s tearful expression. Ray ignores him, but can’t quite tear his eyes away from Ryan and his blasé posture, leant back in the chair like he has a choice to be there. Ray realises that all those times before- sitting in the car and then, travelling from place to place for the best part of _two years_ \- having to cry and crumple and try his absolute _hardest_ not to fall apart and getting over it all cannot even compare to the way he feels right now, in this moment when Ryan tells Joel Heyman the complete _truth_ , for the first time. He’s played Ray like an instrument- again. And then, Ray realises that this moment and this moment _alone_ is the only time Ryan has ever _truly_ broken his heart.

Ryan sighs, like he can’t quite admit it to the others or himself.

“I used Ray’s position as your boyfriend to access your room. As soon as I gave him the bracelet and he took it, the microphone I installed monitored everything in your room and I accessed your password that way by monitoring the keystrokes on your laptop.” To finish, he then dares to allow himself one last lingering look, because following this, Ray will likely never speak to him again. When he turns to look over, he expects nothing but compete hurt and heartbreak on Ray’s beautiful face, but now, the tears have dried and Ray is staring at him with wide unblinking eyes like a deer in headlights. Ryan barely has time to mutter the inflection; _sorry?_ before he is interrupted by Joel Heyman’s vibrant and unexpected laughter.

“Bullshit!” the driver laughs. “More and more fucking _lies_. Unbelievable!”

“What?” Ryan snaps, glaring back at him. Being in control of a situation, even one like this where he’s been literally kidnapped and tied up, is what Ryan has always been best at. He knows how to work the most difficult room and he practically wrote the book on deceitful improvisation. A curveball at the level of Joel Heyman laughing in his face after he’s admitted his monologue of a conceived master plan is something he doesn’t even know where to start with. Behind him, Burnie shakes his head in his hands.

“What’s fucking funny?” Ryan snaps again, looking panicked between the two.

“You think _he’s_ my boyfriend?” Joel asks with another short and harsh laugh. The sound of duct tape being painfully ripped from Ray’s mouth makes Ryan’s head turn quickly and suddenly, he notices that Ray doesn’t really look so sad anymore.

He looks _guilty_.

“You’re _not_ his boyfriend?” Ryan asks, truly _dumbfounded_ for the first time in a long time. It’s a swirl of emotions- anger, betrayal, confusion. Has Ray been playing the long game against him all along? The idea seems unlikely and his motive is unclear, but with a kid as remarkable as Ray, he wouldn’t be surprised.

“Ray? What the fuck is this?” he asks again, purely due to the fact that he doesn’t know what else to say. “You’re _not_ his boyfriend?”

Ray huffs, and toys with his lip guiltily between his teeth. “No, okay?” He admits after a long pause. “He’s not.” He nods at Joel. “-Ryan, he’s not my boyfriend.”

“I barely know him!” Joel shrugs, throwing his hands up defensively. Ryan notes how he doesn’t quite allow himself to look over at Ray, eyes fixed instead blankly at the white wall.

“Except in the biblical sense.” Ray adds, unable to resist the urge to smirk up at the driver, who blushes and frowns down at the floor, guilty. Ryan’s jaw hangs.

“But I saw-”

“You saw what I wanted you to see.” Ray hangs his head backwards, guilt washing off of his face and morphing into annoyance, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar as his eyes all back onto Ryan and his mouth offers up a smile. “Just like you taught me, right?”

Ryan doesn’t smile back. “Then what were you doing here?!” he demands.

 “I…” Ray’s eyes roll from the ceiling to the floor, and he sits up, shifting uncomfortably around his roped hands. “I was, uh… I was working a job.” He mumbles. Ryan grits his teeth.

“I thought you quit?”

“That was a lie, alright?!” Ray exclaims, clearly somewhat embarrassed by the whole display. “I wanted you to think I’d fucking moved on, alright? I was on Joel for his watch.” He nods towards the black time piece dangling on Joel’s arm, and Ryan exaggeratedly throws his shoulders back, eyes rolled to the back of his head.

“You’re still doing _watches_?”

“It’s a fucking _Piaget_ ,” Ray glares at him. “It’s worth two hundred grand!”

“You’re so much better than watches Ray, I’ve told you-”

“Enough!” Joel Heyman interrupts, long past amused by the whole charade. Ryan is still glaring at Ray, and Ray isn’t afraid to glare right back at him. “Fuck this, fuck that little motocross skank-”

“I’m not a fucking skank! I was playing _you_ remember, asshole.” Ray sticks his tongue out childishly. He’s many things, sure- but he isn’t a fucking skank and he won’t have Joel Heyman calling him one.

“I don’t care!”

“Don’t call him a fucking skank!” Ryan jumps in. Ray grins smugly.

“Yeah! You weren’t calling me a skank when your face was buried in my a-”

“Enough! The truth, now- or he shoots you.” Joel points angrily to Burnie, who looks up from where he’d been staring at his phone. “Burnie!” he waves. “Get the gun!”

“Oh, right.” Burnie nods, reaching into his jacket and surprisingly smoothly pulling out a black pistol. It cocks audibly, comfortably sat in Burnie’s hand and Ray feels his entire body tense when Burnie shifty, and then points it directly at Ryan. Ryan himself doesn’t seem fazed, attention still completely focused on Ray.

“If he wasn’t your boyfriend, who roughed you up?” he asks, curiosity lingering in his voice. Ray chokes down the fear and instead glares at the man with the gun who was made his way closer, standing side by side with an aggravated Joel Heyman.

“He did.” He nods in Burnie’s direction. Ryan’s eyes widen and he turns to Burnie, eyebrows raising in question of _why_?

“Caught the fucking kid stealing cash from Heyman’s room. Turned out he’d found out his pin number too and was racking up credit card charges, room service bills- that kind of shit.”

“You _did_ that?” Ryan asks accusingly. “Faked a whole relationship- got punched in the face to make me jealous?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Ray rolls his eyes. “It was mainly to fucking get money and you know, survive comfortably for a couple months.” He grunts, offers up a subtle shrug. “And…” he looks away, to the floor. His toe draws a circle over the white tiles. “… _partly_ to make you jealous. Alright?”

Ryan huffs- “I can _not_ believe you lied to me!”

“Oh really?” Ray snaps back upwards, glaring at Ryan. “Coming from _you_? Asshole! You fucking _can’t_ believe it, huh?”

“No, I _can’t_!”

“That’s just fucking classic you, isn’t it?” Ray glares at him. Ryan only glares back, just as ferociously with his lip pouted and his teeth clenched.

“What’d you mean- _classic_ me?” he asks incredulously. Ray scoffs loudly.

“Fucking lying- always fucking lying!” He exclaims. “To me and to _everyone_ around you!”

“I was trying to save your fucking life!”

“Well my fucking hero!” Ray yells wetly. “All you do is fucking lie, and now we’re fucking _dead_ because of it.”

Before Ryan has the chance to have much of a reaction, Joel interrupts them both with a pained shout of “Enough!” and a dark glare, this time at the both of them. He stalks over, standing close enough to Ray now to touch him. He looks angry, like he wants to grip Ray by the throat, but he’s not ruthless enough to bother trying to his arms stay limply by his sides and he turns his attention back to Ryan. Ray will take what he can get.

“Enough of all this married couple _bullshit_ \- Tell me the truth, _how_ did you access my plans?”

Ryan is seething still, but he relents and resides his anger to fight their bigger battle. He sighs and looks at Ray, looks at Burnie and then finally looks back at Joel.

“You want the truth?” he asks. Joel nods vigorously.

“The _real_ truth?” he looks back to Burnie, and the two lock eyes as Joel continues to nod, arms crossing over his chest.

 “Fine,” Ryan relaxes. “I'll tell you the truth.”

“Finally.” Joel mutters, under his breath. Ray scoffs, but Ryan doesn’t react. Instead, he takes in a deep breath, and his eyes settle again onto Joel Heyman.

“I-”

It almost seems as the bullet comes out of _nowhere_ , but Burnie’s the only one in the room with a gun in his hand. Joel’s eyes blow widely and suddenly, his words are spilling from his thin lips in a frantic babble of _why_ and _no_ and _Burnie, what the fuck_? Burnie shouts back at him, something about Ryan only feeding them more lies- but Ray isn’t really listening. He’s truly speechless, for the first time, eyes fixated on Ryan’s slumped body and the scarlet blood spreading from his chest across his stark white t-shirt. The adrenaline rush surely from witnessing a literal shooting kicks in, and Ray pulls away from his rope restraints desperately.

They feel looser than before, but Ray doesn’t have time to notice Blaine crouched behind him with a penknife, cutting him free. He only has the time and the focus for Ryan, laid out bleeding on the metal chair with his eyes closed.

“Ryan- Ryan no, please!” Ray sobs loudly. There’s a box cutter not far from them, so he lunges for it, slicing Ryan free from the rope and pulling him down from the chair and onto the floor. Ryan looks almost like an angel under the ceiling lights reflecting off the white tiles surrounding the room. Burnie Joel and shortly after, Blaine, argue loudly behind them but Ray doesn’t bother listening.

“Ryan, please-” he begs, running his hands frantically through Ryan’s thick brown hair. Part of him wants to marvel at how silky it looks in the light, but the contrast of the bright red blood spreading still across the white expanse of his T-shirt distracts him. “Open your eyes- Ryan… you can’t leave me, not again.” He cradles his head. “I know we said no promises but you _promised_ you wouldn’t leave me again-”

“Go- I’ll clean this up.” He faintly hears behind him. Then, the slamming of the door, the clicking of the car’s trunk opening.

“Ryan-” Ray presses his hands against the blood soaked white t-shirt covering Ryan’s chest, as if it’s all as simply as pushing the blood back into his body.

The worst part of it all is that Ryan’s starting to feel far too still to be breathing.

“Please.” Ray cries quietly, Ryan’s blood soaking the sleeves of his hoodie. “You _can’t_ die. Not here.”

“Step aside kid.” Ray turns to hear Burnie’s voice as the right-hand-man to a now panicked and fled Joel Heyman makes his way over to them calmly. He settles a heavy looking metal briefcase next to Ryan’s body and crouches down beside them without much more than a concentrated stare, like a mathematician trying to figure out a puzzle.

“What the fuck?!” Ray hollers. Instinctively he tries to push Burnie away from Ryan, desperate to protect him in his own animalistic and selfish way but Burnie is older and stronger and easily swats him away like a fly, before raising an eyebrow curiously as he pulls out a pair of scissors and slices at Ryan’s shirt, making the crew neck into more of a deep V.

“Kid, what’s up?” He asks, working quickly.

“You fuckign _shot_ him-” Ray shouts hysterically, voice interrupted by a hiccup. “That’s what’s fucking up!”

“Wait…” Burnie’s face curls inquisitively. He doesn’t stop working, unclipping the briefcase quickly to pull out a manner of foreign equipment, but looks up and stares Ray directly in the eyes. “Did you not know that I’m in on this whole thing?”

Despite his haste in tending to Ryan’s body, Burnie send a few concerned glances in Ray’s direction as his eyes blow wide and his breaths sharpen. Suddenly, it’s all too much- the blood and the gun and _Burnie_ \- Burnie who roughed him up outside Joel’s suite and sent him crying to Ryan in the first place.

And he was _in_ on it?

“Oh my God, poor kid- you must be terrified. Breathe.” Burnie pauses, and rests his hand distantly comfortingly on Ray’s shoulder. “Look.” He nods to Ryan. “He’s not dead. Not yet anyway-”

“But you _shot_ him-”

“I did.” Burnie nods. He leans down with his palms flat on the floor, head bowed to Ryan’s lips to listen out for breathing. Satisfied with the response, he rushes to rifle around the equipment and pulls out what looks like a metal tin with a pressure clock and a long, sharp needle that makes goose pimples rise on Ray’s skin. “And now,” Burnie smiles, looking down at Ryan with an apparent distant fondness that Ray had not been expecting. “With any luck- I’m going to save his life.”

“How-”

“You aim between the third and fourth rib, doesn’t pierce the heart- you wouldn’t want to touch that. If your aim is good, like mine- it does however, puncture the lung- letting in a rush of blood and air. If left untreated, you’ll drown in your own blood in about ten minutes.”

“Wait… is this the Toledo Panic Button?”

Burnie smiles. “Hey- you might be smarter than you look.” He says, far to brightly for a man who is about the revive the same guy he shot in the chest barely a few minutes ago. “Now,” he aims the needle with a steely, unwavering grip. “Just got to relieve that cavity pressure, hold here, push- _hard_ against his chest.” He instructs, and Ray follows him blindly, pressing down on Ryan’s chest as Burnie reaches back and with a sudden violent force, plummets the needle directly into Ryan’s lung.

“And with any luck…” Burnie mumbles. Then follows the most painful four or five seconds of Ray’s entire life as both he and Burnie stare down at Ryan’s body, still and unmoving and frighteningly vacant. Ray feels a few more tears threaten to slip from his eyelids, but before they have a chance to fall they are interrupted by a gasp from below them. Ray has never been so thankful for an interruption in his life. Ryan wakes up with a pained groan, his eyes slipping open and his lips falling into a grimace wrapped around a moan as Burnie laughs triumphantly above him, before reaching out towards him.

“That’s it,” he helps Ryan sit up slowly, patting him fondly on the shoulder. “That’s my boy.”

“What the _fuck_ is going on?” Ray asks, mainly because he can’t honestly think of much else to say. Burnie shoots him a small smile, but doesn’t offer up much of a reply. Instead, he slowly pulls Ryan to his feet, metal contraption still poking from his pierced chest.

“C’mon kid, help me get him in the car. I’ll explain on the way.”

“Am I dead?” Ryan mumbles as they drag his body into the backseat. Burnie slams the door behind them and slides into the driver’s seat. “Not quite.” He chuckles, adjusting the rear view mirror. Following Blaine’s surprise attack, the car had been run off the road and down into a ditch, but the German’s weren’t fucking around, apparently, because it doesn’t hold much more damage than a shattered back window and dented door. Okay, so there’s a startling clunking noise as the engine roars to a start, but Burnie doesn’t seem phased by it and oddly enough, Ray trusts him.

“I must be dead.” Ryan pulls him from his train of thought as Ray adjusts so Ryan can lie against him somewhat comfortably. Ryan smirks breathlessly and stares up at him. “Clearly I see an angel.”

“Fuck off.” Ray allows himself to laugh, wiping his tears on his bloodied hoodie sleeve. “Please… somebody tell me what the _fuck_ is going on.”

* * *

 

“I cannot believe you, Ryan.” Burnie grumbles, speeding down the Italian highway twenty or so miles per hour above the speed limit. “ _Two_ _years_ I was working that gig, waiting on Heyman’s hand and fucking foot for you to throw it all away for a race skank.”

“Not a race skank.” Ryan hisses through the pain, and Ray strokes his hair soothingly. “Not at all.”

“Whatever, Mad.” Burnie glares at them both from the rear view mirror. It feels strangely endearing to Ray, even if Ryan is laid against his chest and bleeding out all over him. “You die with the lie- how many _times_ have I told you that?”

“Dad-”

“Wait, you’re his _dad_?” Ray interrupts without thought, mouth hanging agape in shock. But then… it all made sense, didn’t it? The way Burnie held Ryan, bleeding on the floor- how could Ray not have seen it in his eyes? It was love… in an irritated and aggressive shell.

It all makes sense, really.

Burnie scoffs as way of reply, but thankfully, Ryan provides a little more insight. “Yes.” He struggles to nod. “In the _loosest_ fucking sense of the term.” Burnie glares at him again.

“Usually I’d dispute that, but I’m so pissed off that you almost threw our entire operation into the wind for a fucking kid I’ve got half a mind to claim no fucking ownership whatsoever.”

“It was worth it.” Ryan wheezes with a smile, looking up at Ray.

“No it fucking wasn’t.” Burnie scolds. “I’ve told you, King. Love is dangerous in this business. I’ve taught you that lesson so many fucking times-”

“-teaching a lesson and abandoning me when I was seventeen are two different things.”

“I took you in _off_ the fucking street in the first place, I taught you my tricks, my lifestyle just like my dad taught me and his dad before that.” Their car swerves into the next lane almost as harshly as Burnie’s tone is. “Three generations of tricks. And despite all my efforts- all my hard work. Then you went and turned into a fucking good person.”

“And that’s why you left me?” Ryan bickers back at his father. “Because I’m a fucking good person?”

“I abandoned you for a good reason!”

“You abandoned me because you were _scared._ ”

“Damn right I was scared.” Burnie stops glaring at Ryan through the rear view and instead shifts his gaze to Ray. “fucking imagine this, Ray- I’m running a poker deal, right, guy pulls a gun out. Glock 44 Caliber. Never seen one before in my _life_. And all I can think about… is the kid.”

“That’s me, by the way.” Ryan nods with a smug grin. He’s far to cocksure for a guy who’d been shot in the chest less than half an hour ago. Maybe if he were Burnie, Ray would be glaring at him to.

“Yeah, no shit.” Ray laughs quietly.

“So I left you.” Burnie continues. “And I’m fucking sorry okay, but it’s clear to me, even now, that you’re not cut out for this life, Ryan. You’re too soft, no matter how fucking crazy you are. You were soft then, and you’re _definitely_ soft now.”

Ryan doesn’t even tense in his arms. He just looks up at Ray with the biggest fucking grin in the world and his blue eyes sparkle just as they did in the car when they made their original grand escape, before saying quietly, “I know.” Right into his fucking eyes. Asshole.

Still, Ray can’t stop himself from gazing back, equally as adoringly and down at Ryan, who’s got blood on his shirt and a metal contraption still sticking out of his chest with a strict instruction from Burnie not to remove it.

“Oh, quit with the longing stares,” Burnie chides, and just like that- the moment is over. “I’m driving you to the hospital remember. I could always accidentally run us into a ditch.”

“Sorry.” Ryan doesn’t bother looking away, so Ray rolls his eyes and tears his gaze.

“So Ryan fucked up the plan, because he loves me?” Ray asks Burnie, with just the right hint of smugness in his voice. He can hear Burnie grumbling in the front seat, which makes him giggle quietly until he sees the older nod.

“Yes.” He replies, just the right mixture of bitterness and adoration in his voice.

Ray nods. “Sweet!”

“Don’t sound so happy, his fucking crush on you could’ve killed us all.” Burnie reminds him. “I’ve told you Ryan, don’t fall in love- you're compromised, forever, now.”

“Yeah tell that to Ashley.”

The engine turns quiet as Burnie pulls them into the side of the road. Ray catches the faint glow of a hospital sign in the corner of his eyes and smiles in relief. Ryan isn’t dying, at least not today. Not anymore, anyway.

 “Shut up, asshole.” Burnie huffs, opening his car door. “As punishment, I’m keeping the money. _All_ of it.”

“Dad- no.” Ryan struggles to turn in Ray’s arms, reaching out for his father who taunts him through the window with a grin, followed by the sound of the trunk opening and another car pulling up beside them.

“See you at Christmas!” Burnie calls to Ray through the back window, before climbing into an all-black SUV as a few guys climb out and raid their trunk for the duffle bags of Ryan’s hard earned cash.

One of them is courteous enough to open the backdoor of their car before they leave.

“Asshole.” Ryan mutters, barely being supported by Ray’s tiny form. Still, he does his best, dragging Ryan gently towards the hospital. “Hate that guy.” The con man continues to mumble, under his breath. Ray only laughs.

“I can’t believe that’s your dad.” He grins, like Ryan’s dad hadn’t just stolen all their money and shot his own son. “He seems nice.”

Ryan scoffs, but doesn’t reply, instead looking out towards the hospital entrance. It’s a little small and quiet looking but then- they did find it off the freeway. Ray still doesn’t have a drivers licence, and Ryan did sort of just get shot, so it’s not like either of them have a better option.

“We might be stuck here for a while,” Ryan pulls Ray out of his thoughts. “You know… considering I’m kind of broke.” He then groans involuntarily, the tightness of his chest quickly becoming painful again as the adrenaline slowly ebbs away and the realism sets in.

Ray only grins at him widely.

“Don’t worry, Ry.” He says, cheerfully. “Between you and me? I think we’re gonna be _just_ _fine_.”

Ray doesn’t say anything else after that, and Ryan opens his mouth to ask a plethora of questions beginning with the letter _W_ when he looks across and stares at Ray’s arm, wrapped around his chest. Instinct kicks in and his brain flares up, scanning the image in front of him. There is something doesn’t fit the picture, something not quite right where Ray holds him and Ryan is thankful for his brain’s chance at distraction from the pain.

 _“Look at it Ryan_ , _”_ His dad’s voice, distant history now, echoes in his ears. _“Tell me. What’s wrong with this picture?”_

Ray’s hoodie is gone, but that’s probably because it was covered in blood. It can’t be something as trivial as that, otherwise, he wouldn’t have even noticed. No- something else is wrong with his skinny little arm.

It only clicks as they stumble through the doors of the tiny hospital and a wide eyed nurse calls out for a doctor. Dangling on Ray’s wrist, three or four links too big is Joel Heyman’s Piaget watch, loosely valued at two hundred thousand dollars.

 

 

 

Maybe they’re going to be alright after all.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end! Thanks to everyone who stuck with this fic over the past eight weeks! I hope you enjoyed it- please leave kudos and comment with what you thought. Did you expect the ending?

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this, let me know in the comments! Updates once a week-ish.


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